#its really making me start to not like percy on principle

[grimalkinmessor]

SHUT UP ABOUT THE PERCY JACKSON VS HARRY POTTER DEBATE SHUT UP ABOUT THE PERCY JACKSON VS HARRY POTTER DEBATE IT'S BEEN MONTHS WHY IS IT STILL CIRCULATING MY FEED. IF I SEE THAT STUPID ASS TWEET THAT STARTED IT ALL ONE MORE FUCKING TIME I'M GOING TO START DRAWING THEM HOLDING HANDS AND MAKING OUT SLOPPY STYLE AND MAKING SWEET SWEET LOVE ON A BED OF ROSE PETALS I AIN'T PLAYING WITH Y'ALL NO MORE

[saintsenara]

I’ve curious about something you said… you mention that you believe 💯 that Barty Crouch Jr was a full on DE/Blood purist Before being sent to Azkaban but to me the trial scene made me think otherwise- could you elaborate on why you think he was faking and is a true DE?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

barty crouch jr. is - obviously - a fascinating character. but this doesn't override the fact that his primary purpose in goblet of fire is to be a narrative device: the plot twist of the century at the denouement of the book, when "professor moody" is revealed as an imposter; and a man everyone assumed to be dead is revealed to be alive; and a man many people [including harry and, it's implied, dumbledore] suspected - on the basis of his performance at his trial - might simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, rather than a fanatical death eater, is revealed to be... a fanatical death eater, who has been working for a full year to facilitate voldemort's resurrection.

like in a murder mystery, the narrative purpose of crouch jr.'s unmasking at the end of the book is to reveal that several things the text presents as clues before harry [the reader surrogate] has all the information are actually red herrings once he does.

the first of these is that, like philosopher's stone, goblet of fire goes out of its way to suggest that the faithful death eater at hogwarts is snape - which it does magnificently:

A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth. “Oh if there’s one thing I hate,” he muttered, more to himself than to Harry, and his magical eye was fixed on the left-hand corner of the map, “it’s a Death Eater who walked free...” Harry stared at him. Could Moody possibly mean what Harry thought he meant?

harry - and, therefore, the reader - is, of course, immediately primed to interpret this as the real moody suggesting that snape is still suspected of being a loyal death eater. what we learn later, of course, is that crouch-as-moody is actually accusing snape of being disloyal:

“I told you, Harry... I told you. If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most.”

and the second is that goblet of fire treats barty crouch sr. not as a villain - per se - but as one of the long line of civil servants who appear in the series whose commitment to doing everything by the book - being precise, bureaucratic, inflexible, and so on - only ends up making them extraordinarily cruel. crouch is the precursor to how percy will behave in order of the phoenix, and he also has numerous things in common with how dolores umbridge [an unambiguous villain] and rufus scrimgeour [an antagonist, but not a villain] are written.

the text suggests on multiple occasions prior to its denouement that crouch's rigidity made him incapable of mercy [a virtue the series really values].

but, in addition to this, it suggests that crouch's cardinal sin isn't that he didn't show mercy to the genuinely guilty... but that he didn't show mercy to the innocent.

how do we know this? because he's the man who's responsible for the miscarriage of justice which defines the series:

Sirius’s face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer. “Oh I know Crouch all right,” he said quietly. “He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial.”

sirius also tells us that crouch was power-hungry and corrupt:

"Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning - I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side."

and he also gives the reader a nibble at the other half of this red herring, when he suggests that barty crouch jr. might have been nothing more than a victim of his father's ruthlessness, just like winky - the innocent house elf whose cruel treatment at crouch sr.'s hands not only infuriates hermione, but is also given by sirius as proof of crouch's near-villainy:

“Was his son a Death Eater?” said Harry.  “No idea,” said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I’d bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf.”

when harry ends up in the pensieve a couple of chapters later, then, he and the reader are primed to view barty crouch jr.'s hysterics on the stand as authentic, to be horrified that crouch sr. could send his son to azkaban with such brutal ease, and to highly suspect that his conviction - like sirius' - was illegitimate.

but - of course - the twist at the end of the book is that harry [and sirius] is completely wrong about this.

barty crouch sr.'s decision to send his own son to azkaban was the right one. and the thing that ruined him was not making a ruthless decision, but making a merciful one.

because, as barty crouch jr. tells us, his father breaking him out of azkaban, around a year after sending him there, meant nothing to him... other than the chance to return to voldemort:

“And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?” said Dumbledore quietly. “Staged my mother’s death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master... of returning to his service.”

these are not the words of someone who was anything other than a sincere death eater when he and the lestranges attacked frank and alice longbottom.

and they are, therefore, the words of someone whose performance of horrified innocence - just in the wrong place at the wrong time - at his trial is one hundred percent fake.

[vacantgodling]

thank you @sergeantnarwhalwrites for tagging me to do this i looooove talking about myself PFF. i’ll leave this as an open tag for anyone else who wants to do it! tag me if u do i wanna hear ur responses 👀

about me

When did you first start writing?

i’ve been writing pretty much my entire life—making stories since i was like 3 with my grandmother and then transitioned to writing them down pretty soon after. i can’t think of a time in my life where i wasn’t story crafting tbh. but i think if you want a “traditional” start time, wherein i started writing anything that could resemble a Proper wip, then that was when i was 12 in 8th grade lol.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

nah, they pretty much go hand in hand. i love reading gothic lit nowadays and a lot of my recent wips have sort of dove in that direction. in general, you can tell what was really intriguing me or what i was reading based on the wips i made at the time. vdtrt was super inspired when i was in my percy jackson era, purple haze (started) when i was into more comic/slapstick kid humor (like captain underpants or diary of a wimpy kid or that one journal book with the girl with the purple pen… i can’t remember what it’s called tho), but then transitioned into what it is now when i started getting more into romantic dramas. etc etc.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

not one that i’m often compared to, but the great gatsby did a number on me beginning to take prose and description seriously. that book is gorgeous to me (prose wise) and i really think between that and the goth/1700-1900s books that i’ve read really influenced me to put more emphasis on prose than on dialogue, tbh. i used to be a more snazzy, ya style writer—and while there’s nothing wrong with that per se it never sparked as much joy as me nailing an overly complex description does nowadays.

in terms of comparing myself or wanting to emulate someone specifically i don’t really. i think my friends are all amazing writers but i’m pretty self centered when it comes to my writing (both positive and negative connotations besides) so i tend to try and focus being the best version of myself and what i’m trying to write. this isn’t to say i don’t get jealous of how some of my friends write occasionally lol. i just don’t particularly want to be like them when the inner demons aren’t being shit, if that makes sense.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

tbh, a lot of times i write at work. i tend to finish my tasks early and no one tends to bother me so i kind of write to keep myself from falling asleep. i need silence and no distractions to write lol so its easier for me when im there. so its at my work desk and on my work laptop a lot of the time LMAO. when it’s not there i tend to write on my phone when im out and about or on the bus or whatever—same principles of wanting to be by myself and have no one bug me so i can think lol.

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

ngl, and this is gonna sound kinda bad, i kinda force myself to. lmao. like when i write at work esp i kinda just decide “what am i gonna work on today” and i sort of do it. it doesn’t always work mind you, like if i’m not in the mood or im tired or distracted or whatever then i’ll just end up doing something else.

when it comes to making new ideas i don’t force those, they just kinda come. i’m always thinking about stories and ideas tbh so it’s a matter of if i get obsessed with an idea enough to make it into an actual thing.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

nah with 2 caveats. purple haze specifically is a more fictional retelling (split between 2 mcs) of when i was 18-20 years old. lots of details changed but some of the main bits are shit that happened to me then that really fucked me up at the time that i wanted someplace to work through. as i’ve gotten older and healed from things, or taken to poetry to talk about stuff, emphasis on that wip has taken less precedent bc it doesn’t hurt me as much as it used to. secondly, the town braebrooke, where jenna lives in jenna the reaper is actually named after a street name that drivers always get lost going down near where i grew up. but i don’t tend to like to live in reality and real life. it sucks and it’s boring. stories have always been an escape for me so i don’t like to base things on real life if i can avoid it.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

honestly i would say yes, i have recurring themes in my writing but no they don't really surprise me. i tend to write about things that are important to me and because i'm quite introspective i'm acutely aware of the things that i tend to gravitate towards. fucked up/complicated family dynamics where people care about each other (toxically in many ways) but express it horribly, queerness (as a whole, especially when it comes to the masculine), focus on the individual instead of the whole (in most cases) etc... it's all things i think about quite often. stories are just the vehicles to explore it.

my characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

because i have so many wips it should be "hard" to sit down and say that this (or these) are my favorite characters. but from every single wip i definitely have a brain rot character, and so from my "main wips" the brain rot characters are:

PARAMOUR (tfog) -> hyacinthus shrapnel, obviously. if i had to pick a favorite character of all my ocs its definitely him. he just DOES SOMETHING for me he is literally every obsession i have rolled up into one beautiful, piece of shit.

TCOL -> this one is more difficult because i have a few contendors bc the cast is ENORMOUS and still growing, but clear brightendale will always be my number one frfr. love of my life. my SON. i birthed him, and i'm obsessed with him. he would be followed closely and tied with lath, guardian of valor as well as MIZDARR in terms of other faves tbh.

VDTRT -> darren de leon, also somewhat obviously. he's my favorite guy. what a lad.

BTAF -> sjaak de witte. the first time i truly understood the appeal of a pathetic wet meow meow character archetype because he is all of that and i'm obsessed with him.

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

conceptualizing being friends with my ocs is weird to me because i hate percieving myself, and i'm kinda weird about friendships. i think i would be actually genuine friends with either the friend group in vdtrt (consisting of: darren, olice, vlad, moonglend, gabe, demi, marco, and awilda) or the friend group in sixteen candles (consisting of: ranger, nanette, vani, roger, and tucker). but overall, i actually don't tend to make ocs with super similar interests to me a lot of the time and bc of the 'ism i have a hard time making friends?? so like take this with a grain of salt. i'd rather observe my ocs and play with them like dolls frfr.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

there are SEVERAL but if i go against the grain and i don't pick overt villainous characters (like tagetes, madja, silvano, etc)... probably the entire cast of btaf in some way or another tbh, like they just make decisions that while i (the creator) understand and think are fun in a "look at this shit" kind of way they would piss me off in a common sense kind of way. they are all dumb.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

characters kind of take a few basic routes for me. either: i like a preexisting character (or am fascinated by them cuz lbr i don't like twilight lmao) and i want to make 'my own version' in which i have control of them or i can amp up/explore other aspects of their personality with free reign bc they're mine now (ie: darren/percy jackson, sjaak/jacob from twilight, kirsi/magda from helix waltz, etc) OR i come up with a plot and i need a character to fill that plot so they start as a utility, then become their own character as i develop them more. (ie: jenna has a crush on someone in school, so i made chloe mathilders and now she has her own personality. the entirety of donut wip existed bc i wanted to make a horror wip and so they kind of came with the stereotypical horror archetypes; juls as the final girl etc).

it's actually not quite often that i have characters appear directly out of the aether for me to just have to deal with. jenna is honestly a rare exception to this because she is the ONE character i can think of who straight up manifested herself. i think that's why her power is manifestation bc she broke the grain of how i usually come up with ocs so. good on you girly lmao.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

yeah, i definitely have character types i gravitate towards, especially when it comes to characters who are my faves-though i do try my best to make it so all of my characters feel like distinct people, even though i do have 'archetypes' that i fall into with them. off the top of my head i can think of:

beautiful asshole (always masculine) -> hya, toph, dove, ranger, aenlin

masc femmes/adjacent that should break my neck -> nyseah, beki, piper, erecia, azelie, almine

"healing" characters, aka has never done anything wrong in their life ever -> aloe, karenza, vani, iole

resourceful underdog -> kirsi, julissa, darren, dagmar, nevaeh, chidori, noh, n

god just help them -> sjaak, di, clear, quill, prosper, hue, graves

i could go on but yeah like most of my characters can fall into some kind of archetype of some kind

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc)

honestly i don't have much of a visual imagination. the ocs that i can picture, i tend to draw out on my own characters so i picture them mostly in a more... stylized and what i wish i could draw version of my own art. otherwise i don't really picture them visually altogether. but this is mostly bc i can't visualize lmao.

my writing

What's your reason for writing?

i love stories, and i love story telling. there isn't really much beyond it. i've been doing it for so long, its literally just the fabric of who i am as a person. my literal first word was book lmao. like i just can't imagine existing without writing or storytelling in some form.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

honestly i'm greedy. i want to hear specific reactions and i love when people go into deep depth to react to what i've written and really take in every single detail and then kind of give me a play by play of how they felt and things they liked. it makes me want to write more to get that reaction <3

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

um. idk if i want to be thought of in a particular way, but i guess i just want my stories to resonate with people. as long as they resonate and i can see how they do/the reaction people have to what i'm written then i'm happy. i think my stories should preceed me, if that makes sense. i don't necessarily need to be remembered for who i am but only for the stories i create. i guess?

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

prose and description

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

pretty much the same thing. a lot of people tend to like my more poetic and winding prose which makes me happy lol. i've also been told i'm really good at depicting complex emotions.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

i love it, i think i'm talented asf. shame that the timeline and the state of the publishing industry won't let it be shown to more people but y'know. i would be lying if i said i didn't think that the only real talent i think i have is writing lol

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

YUUUUUP. writing is for me first and everyone else second. i like sharing bc i like validation, but i would be so hype to just be able to create stories on my own with zero interruption. tbh in that scenario i would probably make up so many stories that i would just die eventually bc i forgot to care for myself.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

if i wrote what others enjoyed, i would be publishable. i only write for my own interest.

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 17: I OPEN A COFFIN

"Dracula!?" Alex gasped with hope.

"We already have real monsters, why do you want more?" Percy frowned.

"I have fantasies too Percy, it's not all about you," Alex reminded.

"If Kelli sleeps in one of those, you just know it's going to be pink," Magnus snorted.

"Grave robbing Percy? That's what you've been reduced to?" Jason chuckled.

"How sacrilegious," Will snorted.

"Yes, because I really strike you as the kind of guy to be respectful," Percy scoffed with laughter.

Nico was to busy grinning to himself nobody seemed to assume this had anything to do with him to make a snarky remark as Alex eagerly started.

Jumping out a window five hundred feet aboveground is not usually my idea of fun.

"Really? Because you seem to do it a lot," Magnus frowned at him.

"The arch, you jumped off the side of a cruise ship, you were fully prepared to jump off that cliff after Annabeth, and now you jumped down the side of a mountain," Alex nodded along as he ticked off on his fingers. "Percy, you might have an adrenaline junkie problem."

"Yeah, the problem is to much adrenaline. Please tell me there's a cure," he sighed.

Especially when I'm wearing bronze wings and flapping my arms like a duck.

"But that's the perfect time to do it," Nico told him blandly from personal experience. "If you do the chicken dance any other time, people just look at you strange."

"Now the YMCA on the other hand, that's a universal dance you don't need an excuse for," Will grinned.

Thalia forced a laugh she didn't feel, she knew she wouldn't find anything really funny again until Percy's feet were back on the ground and she could stop imagining this.

I plummeted toward the valley and the red rocks below. I was pretty sure I was going to become a grease spot in the Garden of the Gods, as Annabeth yelled from somewhere above me, "Spread your arms! Keep them extended."

The small part of my brain that wasn't engulfed in panic heard her, and my arms responded. As soon as I spread them out, the wings stiffened, caught the wind, and my descent slowed. I soared downward, but at a controlled angle, like a kite in a dive.

A sudden memory flashed back to Percy's mind. He'd been eight in the park with his mom, who had just given him an octopus kite, with its big blue nylon head and each of its legs a different color of the rainbow.

It had only fluttered in the air long enough for him to take his eyes off and smile at his mom before a flash of lightning had zapped it out of the sky. On a cloudless day.

Now he couldn't shake the mental image that was about to happen to him next, and there was no string that would fizzle his fingers as a result.

Experimentally, I flapped my arms once. I arced into the sky, the wind whistling in my ears.

"Yeah!" I yelled. The feeling was unbelievable. After getting the hang of it, I felt like the wings were part of my body. I could soar and swoop and dive anywhere I wanted to.

"Annabeth once again saving your ass," Alex snorted. "Please tell me you're keeping a tally on that?" He obviously directed to none other than Jason.

"Of course," he scoffed as if the question offended his very principles, like he even remembered what those were. "What do you take me for?"

I turned and saw my friends—Rachel, Annabeth, and Nico—spiraling above me, glinting in the sunlight. Behind them, smoke billowed from the windows of Daedalus's workshop.

"Land!" Annabeth yelled. "These wings won't last forever."

"How long?" Rachel asked.

"I don't want to find out!" Annabeth said.

We swooped down toward the Garden of the Gods. I did a complete circle around one of the rock spires and freaked out a couple of climbers.

"I bet they spend the rest of their life telling everyone they saw an eagle soar," Will offered.

"Or a really, really big sugar glider," Magnus smirked.

Then the four of us soared across the valley, over a road, and landed on the terrace of the visitor center. It was late afternoon and the place looked pretty empty, but we ripped off our wings as quickly as we could. Looking at them, I could see Annabeth was right. The self-adhesive seals that bound the wings to our backs were already melting, and we were shedding bronze feathers. It seemed a shame, but we couldn't fix them, and couldn't leave them around for the mortals, so we stuffed the wings in trash bins outside the cafeteria.

"Where they can rot next to cat litter and corpses," Thalia shivered in disgust one last time.

"I can't believe Annabeth wasn't having a conniption fit about throwing away something he made," Magnus admitted.

"I like to imagine Rachel kept a feather as a souvenir at least," Jason said with a sad smile. He definitely liked the idea of flying, it sounded immensely comforting, the idea of lounging on a cloud.

"I can't believe Daedalus still never found a way to make those better long-range," Alex looked wholly upset at a clearly failed experiment. "That had to be his life's work, right? To find a perfect set of wings that could have saved his son. I hope he never finds out they still wouldn't have worked."

"I don't think I go out of my way to mention it," Percy's promise felt lackluster, he didn't exactly have a good feeling about meeting Daedalus again...though the fact that he felt anything at all for it was a cause of concern all its own.

I used the tourist binocular camera to look up at the hill where Daedalus's workshop had been, but it had vanished. No more smoke. No broken windows. Just the side of a hill.

"Have I mentioned how awfully convenient it is your world just cleans up after itself like that," Magnus shook his head in a kind of daze all that was so close and yet so far from the world.

"Now if only we could convince the monsters and gods and titans to stop getting the world killed and we'd have it made," Percy nodded, crossing his hands behind his head and lounging back.

"The workshop moved," Annabeth guessed. "There's no telling where."

"So what do we do now?" I asked. "How do we get back in the maze?"

Percy smiled in surprise nobody pointed out a better way back to Camp would be Blackjack, because it wasn't the way of getting there. Grover and Tyson were still trapped in there, and the Camp was already as warned as they could be. They weren't going home until everybody in the quest was back together.

Annabeth gazed at the summit of Pikes Peak in the distance. "Maybe we can't. If Daedalus died...he said his life force was tied into the Labyrinth. The whole thing might've been destroyed. Maybe that will stop Luke's invasion."

"Along with Luke," Thalia said lowly. She knew that didn't happen, but there was a tiny kernel of relief in her that Annabeth had said it.

The troubled look on Percy's face meant Annabeth might not have said it with any hope, but even the acknowledgment of it gave Thalia some sense of peace Annabeth wasn't totally delusional about Luke's end.

I thought about Grover and Tyson, still down there somewhere.

Percy decidedly did not like the hesitant moment of silence that followed that sentence. He knew Alex wasn't doing it on purpose as a respectful moment because they were probably dead, but it sure felt that way to Percy for that one, horrible beat.

And Daedalus...even though he'd done some terrible things and put everybody I cared about at risk, it seemed like a pretty horrible way to die.

Will smiled at Percy, a really tender expression Percy couldn't begin to guess at. Will couldn't help it, the only person Percy had yet shown zero remorse for was Gabe. It was obviously not common around camp to get to hear insights of what everybody was thinking, Will just genuinely enjoyed the moment of hearing the constant and probable deaths on these quests weren't so easily glossed over.

"No," Nico said. "He isn't dead."

"How can you be sure?" I asked.

"I know when people die. It's this feeling I get, like a buzzing in my ears."

"Is that where that saying comes if your ears are buzzing somebody's talking about you?" Magnus asked.

"No," Nico shrugged, "I have no idea what started that myth."

"Happens to me every time I blow my nose," Jason rolled his eyes. Thalia swallowed a hysterical laugh the same thing actually happened to her, and she didn't think it was related to this nonsense.

"Hades kids get all the good superstitions," Will chuckled, "all I get is somebody blaming my dad for their allergies."

"The real question is, do Percy's ears buzz every time somebody pee's in the ocean," Alex said saintly.

"I wish I could ban you from the room," Percy frowned at him while Nico tried hard to stifle a laugh and was failing.

"What about Tyson and Grover, then?"

Nico shook his head. "That's harder. They're not humans or half-bloods. They don't have mortal souls."

"Cool," Magnus said with a blank look on his face like he wasn't sure if he meant that or not while Percy started chewing on his lip hard.

Will still gave Nico a hopeful smile though. This was the first time Nico had blatantly talked about even a hint of his powers in his past and nobody was reacting poorly at all. If anything it sounded like they really wanted to know more and just weren't sure how to phrase it.

"We have to get into town," Annabeth decided. "Our chances will be better of finding an entrance to the Labyrinth.

"Why?" Alex looked truly dumbfounded at that train of thought. "You literally know of one in your own woods. The location seems purely random."

"Man do I wish somebody had made a map of these so we could try and discern a pattern," Jason said with a smile like cherishing a long-lost loved one.

"Dude, please keep going before Jason starts writing calculations on the wall," Percy groaned.

We have to make it back to camp before Luke and his army."

"Could Rachel even get you to Camp through the labyrinth?" Jason puzzled. "If mortals aren't allowed in, which would trump the other?"

"Monsters can't get in either, but we're not betting on the maze to keep them out," Percy frowned too though as he wasn't sure if Rachel would just smack into an invisible barrier. No way would they leave her behind in there for any reason, but who knew where the nearest entrance would pop them out at.

"We could just take a plane," Rachel said.

I shuddered. "I don't fly."

"But you just did."

"That was low flying," I said, "and even that's risky. Flying up really high—that's Zeus's territory. I can't do it.

"Important things Rachel should know for future interactions with you," Thalia said agreeably.

"And yet you've flown in every adventure so far," Jason chuckled.

"I don't consider getting thrown into the stratosphere by a ship exploding flying," Percy sighed.

"And yet Zeus probably never will forgive you for it," Thalia reminded.

Besides, we don't even have time for a flight. The labyrinth is the quickest way back."

Nico pursed his lips and wondered if Percy would accept a shadow-traveling trip from his dark creepy powers if it would have gotten them back in time to save the camp. He couldn't have done it back then, to many people, he certainly hadn't the skill for it, but the thought fluttered like a shedding bronze feather in his mind...as he next wondered what Will would say if had to experience that...

I didn't want to say it, but I was also hoping that maybe, just maybe, we would find Grover and Tyson along the way.

Alex had to bite back the comment about Percy being an optimist. Those two could be in France or Utah, or dead for all he knew.

With Rachel as guide though, there was a slim chance he would find them again, and Alex liked to blame that idea more on logic than these weirdos rubbing off on him.

"So we need a car to take us into the city," Annabeth said.

Rachel looked down into the parking lot. She grimaced, as if she were about to do something she regretted. "I'll take care of it."

"Rachel can hotwire a car," Magnus said at once with absolute confidence. Was she a runaway? It seemed to fit.

"Why does Nico feel like the only good influence friend you have?" Will frowned, even knowing that wasn't true. "The rest of you nutjobs are all out here doing every illegal, objectionable, immoral, or obnoxious thing I could name, he's the only one actively choosing not to kill people."

"That's not a very high bar Will," Nico rolled his eyes.

"And yet you're still winning," Percy shrugged.

"How?" Annabeth asked.

"Just trust me."

Annabeth looked uneasy, but she nodded. "Okay,

"Prog...proggress?" Jason tried to say. At least she didn't offer a snarky comment instead.

"It takes her a while to get there, but she does trust people," Thalia said patiently.

"Exhibit A," Percy shouted, raising his hand with pride.

I'm going to buy a prism in the gift shop, try to make a rainbow, and send an Iris-message to camp."

"Did Rachel understand any of those words?" Will asked with twitching lips.

"I'm going to buy a rainbow and talk to my also fruity friends, seems plain enough," Alex nodded.

"I'll go with you," Nico said. "I'm hungry."

It also didn't hurt to get away from Percy for a second, Nico happily kept to himself. He'd only been back in his presence for twenty minutes, tops, and already several fantasies had come true about monsters and buildings exploding. All that was missing was the slow, dramatic walk away from it all as he brushed his hair aside.

The reality looking back was much grungier. Percy's shirt had been singed, he'd had a desperately unhappy look in his eyes as he worried about his missing friends and the impending attack. There had been no hand-holding or swooning from anybody.

"I'll stick with Rachel, then," I said. "Meet you guys in the parking lot."

Rachel frowned like she didn't want me with her. That made me feel kind of bad, but I followed her down to the parking lot anyway.

"Because if Percy ever took a hint we'd all have like, half as many problems," Thalia chuckled.

"There could have been very fearsome monsters in that parking lot," Percy insisted. There really was no point in reminding his curiosity on how she was going to make that happen would never let him walk away from this.

She headed toward a big black car parked at the edge of the lot. It was a chauffeured Lexus, like the kind I always saw driving around Manhattan.

The driver was out front, reading a newspaper. He wore a dark suit and tie.

"Easy money his name is Jeeves," Alex said with a very calculating look of where this was going.

"Or Jarvis, or Alfred, come on Alex, don't stereotype," Percy snorted.

"What are you going to do?" I asked Rachel.

"Beat him up, steal his keys," Thalia said with all the sarcastic confidence she had.

"Finally reveal how Annabeth chased that guy out of the car wash, all without planning on duplicating her of course," Jason smirked.

"Kick him in the shins and run for it while expecting Percy to hotwire the car," Magnus offered. Hey, he was from New York, maybe she just assumed he knew how.

"Just wait here," she said miserably. "Please."

Rachel marched straight up to the driver and talked to him. He frowned.

Rachel said something else. He turned pale and hastily folded up his magazine. He nodded and fumbled for his cell phone. After a brief call, he opened the back door of the car for Rachel to get in.

Percy watched in sympathetic commiseration as four mouths opened in shock around him. Will had certainly never heard about this at Camp, and it made Rachel's mystic arcane powers seem even more enchanting she'd been doing this before she spewed green smoke.

"She's a secret siren! I knew Percy couldn't have a normal friend!" Magnus yelped.

"What does that make you," Percy's frown was just as confused as his though.

"I never claimed to be normal," Magnus snorted.

Alex was rubbing the back of his neck though with a very contemplative look on his face. Rachel sure knew how to get around for a mortal, and he knew of one sure fire way that could be accomplished...though it didn't track at all with her going to a public school Percy would attend...unless...

She pointed back in my direction, and the driver bobbed his head some more, like Yes, ma'am. Whatever you want.

"Would you like a space necklace from the Cupar system? Would you like my firstborn child?!" Thalia said sycophantically.

"Mock me all you like, I am this close to stealing that book away and getting answers without your help, Pine Fresh," Percy sighed.

"And miss all my brilliant commentary," she sniffed, giving him a good hard poke in his spleen just because she could. He yelped in surprise while Alex went on, for once ignoring the casual violence in curiosity if there was any proof to his theory.

I couldn't figure out why he was acting so flustered.

"It's called having manners Percy, I know that's a really foreign idea to you," Jason told, but he was to bemused himself to hold much weight.

Rachel came back to get me just as Nico and Annabeth appeared from the gift shop.

"With not a snack in sight I might add," Percy said, taking his troubled eyes off the book to throw an accusing glare at Nico. "If you stuffed Skittles up your sleeve, I hope you share!"

"Annabeth and I weren't exactly walking around with spare change," Nico reminded with a raised brow. "She went to the bathroom with that prism to get any good light and water for her rainbow and I kept lookout nobody went in the podunk, lucky it was working, one-room bathroom." Percy noticed he didn't deny the claim of stolen sweets though as his stomach rumbled.

"I talked to Chiron," Annabeth said. "They're doing their best to prepare for battle, but he still wants us back. They're going to need every hero they can get.

Percy waited for the smart-ass crack about how he and Annabeth alone were going to turn the tide of battle...but it didn't come. Percy felt a sense of pride they had as much faith in his camp as he did, though the troubled look on Will's face still promised it hadn't exactly been a clean sweep of a victory with or without them.

Did we find a ride?"

"We found an alien abduction in progress," Magnus muttered.

"The driver's ready when we are," Rachel said.

The chauffeur was now talking to another guy in khakis and a polo shirt, probably his client who'd rented the car. The client was complaining, but I could hear the driver saying, "I'm sorry, sir. Emergency. I've ordered another car for you."

"If Rachel was claiming that, I would expect to see a lot more blood," Alex said cynically with a raised brow. "I don't see her or Annabeth pulling the 'my water broke' line."

"She's an artist, I would think she'd commit to the bit more, be screaming her heart out at minimum," Percy mockingly agreed.

"Come on," Rachel said. She led us to the car and got in without even looking at the flustered guy who'd rented it. A minute later we were cruising down the road.

"You and Annabeth didn't question this at all?" Magnus asked of Nico.

"We just flew down from a window in the mountain where an emposua and Canadians tried to kill us, a mortal not asking questions why we were using his car was the blessing of the day," Nico scoffed.

Magnus sighed, he'd thought he'd gotten better about keeping up with the weirdness of all this, but clearly he was starting to fall behind again.

The seats were leather. There was plenty of legroom. The backseat had flat-panel TVs built into the headrests and a mini-fridge stocked with bottled water, sodas, and snacks. We started pigging out.

"The only way to travel," Thalia shook her head in exasperation. "You should have abducted this girl back at the Hoover Dam Percy, she would have gotten us a free ride the rest of the way west too in luxray."

"I'm sorry kidnapping wasn't my first train of thought," Percy said blandly.

'It sure was Artimes's' Nico kept the burning comment to himself, and it wasn't as painful as he'd thought it was as it lit and dimmed in him quickly.

"Where to, Miss Dare?" the driver asked.

"I'm not sure yet, Robert," she said.

"Damn, guess you lost that easy money Alex," Percy chuckled.

"I'll make it back by betting when you next say something illegal, objectionable, immoral, or obnoxious." He easily promised.

Percy sighed, he should have known he'd be the sole contender on that list. Ah well, he was used to taking the blame anyway.

"We just need to drive through town and, uh, look around."

"Whatever you say, miss."

I looked at Rachel. "Do you know this guy?"

"No."

"And here my next theory was long lost cousin and blackmail," Jason admitted.

"But he dropped everything to help you. Why?"

"Just keep your eyes peeled," she said. "Help me look."

Which didn't exactly answer my question.

"Oh, well that's a relief, I thought I was just lagging behind again," Magnus frowned.

"Not in this room buddy, one speed only," Percy agreed.

We drove through Colorado Springs for about half an hour and saw nothing that Rachel considered a possible Labyrinth entrance. I was very aware of Rachel's shoulder pressing against mine. I kept wondering who she was exactly, and how she could walk up to some random chauffeur and immediately get a ride.

"Is that what it takes to impress you?" Nico asked in exasperation. "I bet I could do that." Not that he wanted to... it was the principle of the matter...

"Do I need to add a clause about not giving said chauffeur a heart attack?" Percy demanded with a raised brow.

"Well that rules out Annabeth too, guess Rachel gets to keep this unique skill to herself," Will chuckled.

"Yeah, but Rachel ate all the peanuts," Percy grinned, "I have to say, it dulled some of her mystique."

After about an hour we decided to head north toward Denver, thinking that maybe a bigger city would be more likely to have a Labyrinth entrance, but we were all getting nervous. We were losing time.

Then right as we were leaving Colorado Springs, Rachel sat bolt upright. "Get off the highway!"

"That's better than screaming, oh my god monster, but somehow not by much," Magnus sighed.

"I was half expecting her to see vampires running alongside the car," Jason admitted.

The driver glanced back. "Miss?"

"I saw something, I think. Get off here."

The driver swerved across traffic and took the exit.

Alex's gleefully evil eyes were back on full display, clearly plotting whatever diabolical thing he'd do with someone willing to dart across traffic on a whim. It only made Magnus piss his pants a little.

"What did you see?" I asked, because we were pretty much out of the city now. There wasn't anything around except hills, grassland, and some scattered farm buildings. Rachel had the driver turn down this unpromising dirt road. We drove by a sign too fast for me to read it, but Rachel said, "Western Museum of Mining & Industry."

For a museum, it didn't look like much—a little house like an oldfashioned railroad station, some drills and pumps and old steam shovels on display outside.

"You've been spoiled by visiting all the good museums already," Thalia reminded. "This is probably their major economy or something Percy, be a little more respectful."

"It's going to take a lot more steam shovels for that to happen, I demand hydraulics," Percy smirked.

"There." Rachel pointed to a hole in the side of a nearby hill—a tunnel that was boarded up and chained. "An old mine entrance."

"A door to the Labyrinth?" Annabeth asked. "How can you be sure?"

"Why is she still wasting her breath questioning this?" Nico asked in exhaustion.

"Someboyd's got to double-check our work around there, and it's not going to be me," Percy shrugged.

"Well, look at it!" Rachel said. "I mean...I can see it, okay?"

She thanked the driver and we all got out. He didn't ask for money or anything.

There was an awkward pause where everybody expected somebody to say something. Alex didn't blurt out any wild ideas about mind control, Jason didn't offer any theories of how she pulled that off though.

There was just silence as they all tried to process for a moment if this guy had just done a random nice thing for a bunch of kids.

"Are you sure you'll be all right, Miss Dare? I'd be happy to call your—"

"No!" Rachel said. "No, really. Thanks, Robert. But we're fine."

Rachel had watched him go with a look on her face Nico had recognized at the time with no clue why. Percy and Annabeth had turned attention at once to their destination, but looking back he saw now she was regretting her 'power.' Her ability to manipulate someone into doing her bidding just by invoking her father's name. It was a heedy power she toed the line with he still struggled against.

The museum seemed to be closed, so nobody bothered us as we climbed the hill to the mine shaft. When we got to the entrance, I saw the mark of Daedalus engraved on the padlock, though how Rachel had seen something so tiny all the way from the highway I had no idea.

"A valid question," Jason promised, "though I'm over here wondering who went around and put all those marks up. Did Daedalus play Where's Waldo with a US map and throw darts?"

Magnus still took an extra second to realize he was talking about Quintus, that it was possible he'd been alive so long he'd lived in every city in the states, had moved west with every new plot of land and done this himself for his own means. The idea melted his mind.

I touched the padlock and the chains fell away. We kicked down a few boards and walked inside.

For better or worse, we were back in the Labyrinth.

"Worse. I'm pretty confident it's going to be worse," Percy said with entirely to much confidence for the guy who had lived through it and couldn't remember.

The dirt tunnels turned to stone. They wound around and split off and basically tried to confuse us, but Rachel had no trouble guiding us. We told her we needed to get back to New York, and she hardly even paused when the tunnels offered a choice.

To my surprise, Rachel and Annabeth started up a conversation as we walked. Annabeth asked her more about her background, but Rachel was evasive, so they started talking about architecture. It turned out that Rachel knew something about it from studying art. They talked about different facades on buildings around New York—"Have you seen this one," blah, blah, blah,

"I get the feeling Percy was riveted by this conversation," Jason snorted in amusement, and deeply wishing he could fill in the blanks of those blahs. He was now right along with Percy in his jealousy of the universe neither girl was here!

"I'm just over here glad she's finally making friends," Thalia said with a proud smile. She worried about that a bit when she'd left for the Hunters. She knew Annabeth had Percy, and everybody in Camp respected her, but in the time they'd spent together in the mortal world catching up, her little sister hadn't exactly given a list of friends she missed at Camp. She missed the freedom of walking around on the green grass and strawberry fields without a hall pass, and the activities, and avoiding the harpies when she wanted out after curfew to sneak down to the ocean, but just a few sparse details about her half-siblings.

Another thing she'd once resented Percy for but now found herself more than grateful to. The boy made friends everywhere he went, and his friends were going to be Annabeth's friends if they wanted to stay that way.

so I hung back and walked next to Nico in uncomfortable silence.

"No, Percy, say it ain't so. Tell me how you really feel," Nico said deadpan.

"I could have started whistling show tunes to ease the mood," Percy offered just as sarcastically. "There's a pretty wild swing on people who love and hate that though, I don't know you well enough to guess."

"Imagine if someone had actually locked them in a room together," Alex said with way to much critical thinking in the tone of his voice. "Two opposing personalities, that Big Bad Kid 3 whatever tension hitting its breaking point, they'd have either killed each other or come out as best friends."

"Isn't that how everybody makes friends?" Percy shrugged, throwing an arm over Thalia's shoulders.

She smacked him and scoffed, "if we were locked in a room together they'd never find the body."

Nico scratched at his ear and decided to keep the thoughts to himself; A, they were once trapped in a room together and Percy did consider killing him and B, they were locked in a room together now and nobody had actively started killing yet; so it really was anybodys guess how this would end.

"Thanks for coming after us," I told him at last.

Will smiled that of course Percy's first instinct was to thank Nico.

Nico, however, couldn't help a little twitch under his skin that the last person who had thanked Percy was Kronos, and didn't appreciate all the easy parallel lines he could always draw there.

Nico's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem as angry as he used to—just suspicious, careful.

It seemed to be how he'd mellowed out to now, Jason noticed. Gone was that happy little kid, but at least this quiet, suspicious, careful kid didn't seem to have a hint of homicidal return. He just seemed kind of sad. Jason didn't even remember how he used to be and he cracked a smile whenever he found the easiest chance.

"I owed you for the ranch, Percy. Plus...I wanted to see Daedalus for myself. Minos was right, in a way. Daedalus should die. Nobody should be able to avoid death that long. It's not natural."

"What is natural anyways?" Thalia said with a challenging smirk. "Fire doesn't occur without a biological factor, and yet we have Greek fire." Here Nico was mocking Annabeth for wanting to always make sense when he thought he could raise the dead and have natural order.

Fire- occurs- endless gasless fire- gas feeds fire- wait what is gas again- oh right- "Dinosaurs still exist as gas," Percy sounded like he was agreeing even as he went cross-eyed. "Hey, do you think the gods rode on them? I bet they all fought over who would win in fights like we still do. Bet I could ask my dad-"

He was forced to stop his verbal ADHD rant at the loud laughter and then chuckled along until Alex got his breath back enough to keep going. He really wished Riptide would work as a pen right now though, he wanted to jot that one on his hand to ask later.

"That's what you were after all along," I said. "Trading Daedalus's soul for your sister's."

"You know what, I take it all back," Magnus rolled his eyes, "Percy does have a filter, it's just so dam clotted with blonde hair the only thoughts that don't come through are when you won't shut up about how pretty my cousin is."

"I'm always slipping through the cracks!" Nico somehow managed to make that sound like a good thing as Will looked at him in concern.

"What?" Percy still asked blankly like he couldn't figure out why anyone would scold him for bringing up a sensitive topic.

Nico walked for another fifty yards before answering. "It hasn't been easy, you know. Having only the dead for company. Knowing that I'll never be accepted by the living. Only the dead respect me, and they only do that out of fear."

Jason's mouth ticked, and he had no clue. It wasn't pleasant, to suddenly have a lurching inside him that made him wonder if he'd ever described himself like that with no clue why...but the feeling was fleeting and didn't linger as his headache immediately overrode the sensation.

Percy was biting his tongue hard, proving Magnus's statement false once again as he stopped himself saying maybe that wouldn't be a problem if he hadn't run away in the first place! If he could use the maze and the ghosts to figure out how to get around, he could have come back to camp.

"You could be accepted," I said. "You could have friends at camp."

He stared at me. "Do you really believe that, Percy?"

I didn't answer. The truth was, I didn't know. Nico had always been a little different, but since Bianca's death, he'd gotten almost...scary. He had his father's eyes—that intense, manic fire that made you suspect he was either a genius or a madman. And the way he'd banished Minos, and called himself the king of ghosts—it was kind of impressive, but it made me uncomfortable too.

"Sorry," Percy said it like a knee-jerk reaction. Like he was still on the roof about to catch him before he fell, and yet his hand twitched in his lap like he'd pull away just as fast.

Nico knew he was apologizing the thought was said out loud, not because he'd thought it.

Which was kind of a relief. A nice feeling to know what Percy really thought of him instead of constantly wondering and guessing. It's not like there had ever been a question, but getting the answer was still appreciated. Somewhere deep down. "Uhhu," was all Nico could think to say to that.

Was Percy apologizing, saying he shouldn't come back to camp because he wouldn't be accepted? He knew that. And yet Percy made a face like there were dancing skeletons doing the tango every time it was mentioned he'd run away.

"Percy's just uncomfortable around anyone competent, like Thalia and Annabeth obviously," Alex scoffed - "Hey," Percy sighed- "We accept you Nico," he reminded, looking a touch hurt he wasn't everybody's first and last thought.

"Because you've been stuck in a room with me for days and I haven't killed you all," his biting sarcasm held no weight though, he found that an odd anomaly.

"I mean, that's a bonus, not the point," Jason snorted, waving a mocking hand at Percy who pretended to look offended.

Nico struggled to answer with the sudden heat in his face. Will and Percy wouldn't have let these guys murder Luke if he'd been trapped in here, it wasn't the same. They were kicking it in luxury survival mode and would all part ways the moment they could.

"It doesn't have to be like that Nico," Will said robustly like he'd read his mind, a stern edge in his voice like he was daring anyone to say anything now.

Yet even Thalia, who knew his contribution during the Titan war, looked a little to guilty as her eyes shifted from Percy to Nico and chose not to say anything. She thought Will naive, Children of the Big Three didn't get that balance between respect and friendship, Percy seemed unique in that. She'd certainly lived the experience in her short months at camp with everybody avoiding eye contact and afraid to step on her toes lest she electrocute them. The only ones who had never been like that were Luke, Annabeth, and Percy.

"It doesn't matter now," Nico sounded calm, factual. "I'll never know the difference, they all know so it won't feel real."

Percy went crosseyed in confusion when the Camp found out about this but Will wasn't letting go that easily.

"I'm not saying you'll be universally loved! I can't stand Ashely McNabb, I swear she has Munchausen's as much as she's in the infirmary complaining about something! Nobody is, have you met Clarisse?" He threw his hands up in exasperation, ruffling the hair along Nico's neck. "We took in Chris without question! We would have taken in Ethan despite how hard that would have been on a lot of kids who still feel betrayed by Luke and wouldn't believe some idiot would flip-flop on sides like that. You could at least give the place a real chance to prove that." 

Nico didn't outright answer. Something about having a solid future like that ahead made him queasy. He still felt that need to go into Tartarus, to find out what was happening down there, and he didn't believe he could do both without being some sort of infectious plague on the camp.

When it was apparent Nico and Will were just going to have a staring contest over there, Alex kept reading. Not that this wasn't a riveting debate over universal morals, but whoever blinked first would just ruin the tension anyway and he'd rather do that himself.

Before I could figure out what to tell him, I ran into Rachel, who'd stopped in front of me.

"That's one way to end an awkward conversation," Magnus muttered. "I might just get up and run into a wall next time it starts getting to quiet in here."

"I'll have the camera ready," Alex promised without looking up.

We'd come to a crossroads. The tunnel continued straight ahead, but a side tunnel T'd off to the right—a circular shaft carved from volcanic rock.

"Do you go diamond mining?" Thalia asked with such a horribly painful build-up in her throat she was sure that didn't sound intelligible.

"I do not," Percy said with a dull flush on his face for whom his mind jumped to.

"What is it?" I asked.

Rachel stared down the dark tunnel. In the dim flashlight beam, her face looked like one of Nico's specters.

"Which is not an effect of proximity from being around him," Will added cheerfully like somebody was going to rush and check a mirror.

Yet only Nico looked soothed when nobody moved. Will would have rolled his eyes at him if it wasn't just a touch more sad.

"Is it that way?" Annabeth asked.

"No," Rachel said nervously. "Not at all."

"Why are we stopping then?" I asked.

"To make sure you're keeping up?" Jason offered.

"Not in the slightest," Percy sighed.

"Listen," Nico said.

I heard wind coming down the tunnel, as if the exit were close. And I smelled something vaguely familiar—something that brought back bad memories.

"Eucalyptus trees," I said. "Like in California."

"How's that abdication of cough drops going?" Thalia asked, wishing to plug her own nose up at just the thought.

"Surprisingly well, I don't get the flu or allergies very much," Percy resisted the urge to stuff his tongue down his throat to gag up any smell that wasn't in the memory of his nose.

Last winter, when we'd faced Luke and the Titan Atlas on top of Mount Tamalpais, the air had smelled like that.

Percy swallowed a lump in his throat as the thought easily echoed around his brain now. He'd meant to say that out loud, to warn Rachel and Nico what could have been at the other end of that tunnel, but the words had lodged in place to just leave his head feeling cluttered.

"There's something evil down that tunnel," Rachel said. "Something very powerful."

"And the smell of death," Nico added, which made me feel a whole lot better.

"The two usually go hand in hand," Jason agreed blandly, even as his innards squirmed at the idea of Percy going back there. He had no reason to...and yet Jason really wanted him to. Any time Percy got near California, and especially this mountain, the powerful feeling of his memories was always right on the cusp of being understood, no matter how painful it was.

Annabeth and I exchanged glances.

"Luke's entrance," she guessed.

"Gods, if she starts naming all the tunnels and actually trying to map this place out again you'll never leave," Alex said with an awkward laugh that still managed to sound genuine to everyone but him.

"The one to Mount Othrys—the Titans' palace."

"I have to check it out," I said.

"Percy, no."

"Two words that have never done any good," Thalia snorted.

"So we know if she ever says Percy, yes, I'll be unstoppable," Percy grinned.

"Luke could be right here," I said. "Or...or Kronos. I have to find out what's going on."

Annabeth hesitated. "Then we'll all go."

There was a collective wince around the room that Percy didn't cause this time. Absolutely nobody seemed to think it was a good idea to put Annabeth back around Luke, and yet, none of them would have tried arguing the point with her. Last time she and Percy had separated...hadn't ended well.

"No," I said. "It's too dangerous. If they got hold of Nico, or Rachel for that matter, Kronos could use them. You stay here and guard them."

Nico still felt just as small and unseen as he had then, and he still hated himself for that hold Percy would always seem to have over him no matter how desensitized he became to his crush. He didn't need guarding! He, unlike Percy and Annabeth, had never been fooled by Luke! He should have been the one to go!

He'd been about to slip away to prove as much when those girls seemingly agreed with that decision.

A very large part of him had wanted to tell Annabeth and Rachel to hit the road. To split up. He and Percy could handle this while they went to warn camp, it would have been perfect, he could have navigated the maze just fine.

And yet, he'd been far to much of a coward back then to voice such a thing, and it never would have had a good outcome. Percy would never see him as anything more than what they were now. Maybe acquaintances, possibly friends.

What I didn't say: I was also worried about Annabeth. I didn't trust what she would do if she saw Luke again. He had fooled her and manipulated her too many times before.

"Percy, don't," Rachel said. "Don't go up there alone."

"I'll be quick," I promised. "I won't do anything stupid."

Jason made a terribly mocking scoff as he looked at Percy in concern. "You can't even ask yourself what would Annabeth do to avoid that because she's just as bad!"

"Then I follow my own instincts, they've gotten me this far," Percy said simply.

"We're all doomed," Jason did not look very reassured.

Annabeth took her Yankees cap out of her pocket. "At least take this. And be careful."

"Thanks." I remembered the last time Annabeth and I had parted ways, when she'd given me a kiss for luck in Mount St. Helens. This time, all I got was the hat.

"I guess this decision isn't that stupid," Will grinned. "She only shows you affection when she's scared, so she's not that worried about you this time."

"Yeah, that's it," Percy sighed. "So what you're saying is, I should have decided to walk in backward and pretended to join their side."

"Annabeth definitely would have kissed you again if that was the stupid plan you went with," Jason rolled his eyes.

"You're assuming he had a plan at all," Thalia stage whispered.

I put it on. "Here goes nothing." And I sneaked invisibly down the dark stone tunnel.*

"And the countdown for the next disaster begins," Percy sighed for everybody this time. It did not help what a horrible feeling this place was giving him, like this quick trip to Mount Tam wasn't going to be any better than the last time.

Before I even got to the exit I heard voices: the growling, barking sounds of sea-demon smiths, the telekhines.

Percy looked mildly offended his awful stunt hadn't even vaporized all of these things. Either that or they'd just regenerated that fast because his luck was truly the worst.

"At least we salvaged the blade," one said. "The master will still reward us."

Magnus's mind flashed to a guy who lived near the local landfill who salvaged anything of value and then threw it in the ocean where he was sure his master dwelled and would one day call out to him. He was now vaguely concerned if Poseidon or some other ocean spirit could put curses on mortals or something.

"Yes! Yes!" a second shrieked. "Rewards beyond measure!"

"I wonder if they share that with all their telekhine kind, or if they're just the greedy ones who are going to hoard it for generations," Alex huffed.

"Like Kronos is going to hold up his end of the bargain anyways," Jason scoffed.

Thalia felt a horrible feeling deep in her chest that made her want to scream. This would be the last time they'd be able to speak about Kronos in the abstract...soon they'd all have a face to attach to the Titan, one she'd never wanted to look away from once.

Another voice, this one more human, said: "Um, yeah, well that's great. Now, if you're done with me—"

"No, half-blood!" a telekhine said. "You must help us make the presentation. It is a great honor!"

"Oh, well in that case," Magnus blew a raspberry and flipped off the monsters that had nearly killed Percy.

Percy chuckled appreciatively, but his stomach twisted hard at how familiar that voice had sounded. Apparently, no good deed was going to go unpunished.

"Gee, thanks," the half-blood said, and I realized it was Ethan Nakamura, the guy who'd run away after I'd saved his sorry life in the arena.

"Is this an ad to never save somebody's life again?" Thalia asked, that sick feeling in her slowly but steadily rising up, her face growing hot. "I'm thinking about throwing my hat in with that sponsorship."

"Don't forget to do a thorough background check Thals," Percy said with a deep frown of concern at her. He knew she was just kidding, she'd no more stand around and watch someone die than he would, but it was an especially bleak joke from her. There were shadows flickering in her dark blue eyes that had nothing to do with this dark room hinting when her mind really was.

I crept toward the end of the tunnel. I had to remind myself I was invisible. They shouldn't be able to see me.

"Doesn't mean you should start slacking," Jason said sharply.

"Yeah, I was going to start singing opera music or something, I thought that would be real subtle," Percy rolled his eyes.

"You don't even know any opera songs," Alex accused.

"You got me, it was going to be Led Zepplin," Percy grinned.

Thalia laughed in surprise, though she visibly winced too. Percy frowned steadily at her, that look on his face she hated the most. It was usually the dumbass expression that meant he noticed something when he was supposed to be helping her fight.

A blast of cold air hit me as I emerged. I was standing near the top of Mount Tam. The Pacific Ocean spread out below, gray under a cloudy sky.

About twenty feet downhill, two telekhines were placing something on a big rock—something long and thin and wrapped in a black cloth. Ethan was helping them open it.

"Careful, fool," the telekhine scolded. "One touch, and the blade will sever your soul from your body."

Ethan swallowed nervously. "Maybe I'll let you unwrap it, then."

"Not so brave now Percy's not about to be the one to kill him," Alex frowned.

"Thanks, I feel real special," Percy frowned along.

I glanced up at the mountain's peak, where a black marble fortress loomed, just like I'd seen in my dreams. It reminded me of an oversized mausoleum, with walls fifty feet high. I had no idea how mortals could miss the fact that it was here.

"Mount Olympus hangs above New York," Magnus was the one to remind with a completely blank face, "I'm so done questioning this." However, the fact that his face still ticked proved that a minor lie and he was just done begging the world to make sense of it.

But then again, everything below the summit seemed fuzzy to me, as if there were a thick veil between me and the lower half of the mountain.

Thalia tried hard to swallow, but it felt like her body was fighting her, she could taste the acid swiftly climbing. It had nothing to do with heights for once.

There was magic going on here—really powerful Mist.

Above me, the sky swirled into a huge funnel cloud. I couldn't see Atlas, but I could hear him groaning in the distance, still laboring under the weight of the sky, just beyond the fortress.

Percy still could have pointed to the exact boulder Zoe had been thrown into. He blinked rapidly against his painful eyes as he remembered Calypso.

He wished he could somehow add a few extra layers to Atlas's punishment.

"There!" the telekhine said. Reverently, he lifted the weapon, and my blood turned to ice.

It was a scythe—a six foot-long blade curved like a crescent moon, with a wooden handle wrapped in leather. The blade glinted two different colors— steel and bronze.

Percy rubbed his thigh where that blade had once sliced right through him. He exchanged a troubled look with Thalia, the hurt and vengeance all mingled together like the forge that had done this. Luke had used that to cut off everybody who mattered to him in service of Kronos...and they hoped it wasn't worth it.

"Is that a special telekhine ability only?" Alex asked with a rather sad smile for still getting a joke in. "If they steal my weapon, will they give me back a better one? Does the stealing have to be explicit, or do they do trades for volcanos?"

"I get the feeling that sword was a gift Alex, and Luke gave it back to them willingly," Jason told him with bland sarcasm.

"Killjoy," Alex rolled his eyes at murdering such fantasies of thieving gone right.

It was the weapon of Kronos, the one he'd used to slice up his father, Ouranos, before the gods had taken it away from him and cut Kronos to pieces, casting him into Tartarus. Now the weapon was re-forged.

"We must sanctify it in blood," the telekhine said. "Then you, half-blood, shall help present it when the lord awakes."

"But he didn't even win his fight!" Thalia protested. "What was he doing there in a place of honor?" She said that like one would of a porta potty.

"They got desperate and used the only fool they could grab," Jason scowled.

I ran toward the fortress, my pulse pounding in my ears. I didn't want to get anywhere close to that horrible black mausoleum, but I knew what I had to do. I had to stop Kronos from rising. This might be my only chance.

There was ominous silence in the room for several moments.

Then they realized Alex was just pausing dramatically for effect before he took a breath to keep going. Percy almost wished he wouldn't. He had a bad feeling about this, and not once had this kind of gut-deep bad feeling turned out to be wrong.

I dashed through a dark foyer and into the main hall. The floor shined like a mahogany piano—pure black and yet full of light. Black marble statues lined the walls. I didn't recognize the faces, but I knew I was looking at images of the Titans who'd ruled before the gods. At the end of the room, between two bronze braziers, was a dais. And on the dais, the golden sarcophagus.

The room was silent except for the crackle of the fires. Luke wasn't here.

No guards. Nothing.

"It's to easy," Magnus finally couldn't help but state the obvious.

"Which has never happened in my life and I'm finally owed one!" Percy tried to say with triumph, even shaking his fist at the sky like he was daring the god of the heavens himself to smite him for saying otherwise.

It didn't exactly invoke a feeling of safeness and assurance this was going to go well.

It was too easy, but I approached the dais.

Percy sighed and hung his head. Nobody even mocked Magnus for the book copy. It was just that awkwardly silent. "Yeah, I know," Percy said. "Time to play how does it all go wrong?"

"Well, we know it's probably not Dracula in that coffin, or if it is, Kronos has allies cooler than you and I'm not going to be rooting for you anymore, so I'm out," Alex shrugged, and seeing as he had the book, that kind of mattered the most right now.

The sarcophagus was just like I remembered—about ten feet long, much too big for a human. It was carved with elaborate scenes of death and destruction, pictures of the gods being trodden under chariots, temples and famous world landmarks being smashed and burned. The whole coffin gave off an aura of extreme cold, like I was walking into a freezer. My breath began to steam.

I drew Riptide and took a little comfort from the familiar weight of the sword in my hand.

Thalia couldn't help but paint over the image, Percy's black hair turning blond, him shooting up several inches and his eyes turning bright blue; Luke's final moments. Had he walked into the room with confidence and stopped to admire his final resting place with a smile? Had he been crying and regretting this as Kronos egged on his every step? Had he ever prayed to his father for a way out in a last desperate attempt? Would he have checked every corner, hoping beyond hope for someone to show up and help him out of this one last time?

Had he lain down in peace it was finally over?

She still remembered him throwing her arm over his shoulder, supporting all of her weight as she tried to limp along. She'd gasped he should take Annabeth and run, but he hadn't listened to her that time, instead telling her, "you can live with dignity, you can't die with it," and she hadn't said another word about it all the way to his mother's house.

What had been his final thought that day? What would he call this death? What Kronos had done to his body was perverse, as far from dignifying as she could imagine.

Whenever I'd approached Kronos before, his evil voice had spoken in my mind. Why was he silent now?

"Did he finally run out of things to say?" Nico asked without hope. "They say silence speaks louder than words, is he just trying to be louder than your constant internal monolog?"

"I have a feeling he was talking to himself when no one was around to listen in Tartarus, I doubt that's it," Percy was fighting off the urge to shiver in here. His body wasn't cold, only his memory of what was about to come.

He'd been shred into a thousand pieces, cut with his own scythe. What would I find if I opened that lid? How could they make a new body for him?

"Duct tape?" Alex offered.

"I vote a welding torch, it sounds more painful," Jason murmured, and they all felt a thrill of horror as they wondered if that's what Daedalus had done. Given someone other than himself an automaton body.

I had no answers. I just knew that if he was about to rise, I had to strike him down before he got his scythe. I had to figure out a way to stop him.

I stood over the coffin.

Jason looked blearily at the book, his gaze switching from its solid black cover to Percy and Thalia for several moments with deja vu swimming on the brain...before it clicked. Percy had dreamed of this moment once. Standing over this coffin, ready to kill Kronos...was Thalia going to appear again to help get the job done?

She looked just as pale and miserable as she had back then. He understood her expression now, truly one of mourning, which really didn't click with her having any feelings other than triumph over the Titan Lord's defeat. She'd screamed in that dream...a scream of fear for what was inside...

The lid was decorated even more intricately than the sides—with scenes of carnage and power. In the middle was an inscription carved in letters even older than Greek, a language of magic. I couldn't read it, exactly, but I knew what it said: KRONOS, LORD OF TIME.

"What a boring epitaph," Magnus raised a brow. "No, here lie's dad, he tried to eat us all and deserves this. I would have settled for, in loving memory of the dude who birthed us the second time and nothing more."

"Gods just aren't that original Magnus, we've gone over this," Nico scoffed.

"I bet the Titans made it and just couldn't be bothered," Alex rolled his eyes.

My hand touched the lid. My fingertips turned blue. Frost gathered on my sword.

"Guess Jason finally gets his answer about if I can get frostbite," Percy muttered as his stomach turned. He tried to calm it, constantly convince and remind himself nobody could possibly get hurt from this except him and he was fine...maybe he'd finally saved the world with one easy stab and Annabeth would hold his hand and kiss him this time.

Then I heard noises behind me—voices approaching. It was now or never.

I pushed back the golden lid and it fell to the floor with a huge WHOOOOM!

Thalia knew there was nothing she could do to brace herself. She wished there was, she would have done anything to feel prepared for what she knew was coming next, but there was nothing. She just felt cold, and empty, and primed for the pain that every word was going to cause her next.

I lifted my sword, ready to strike. But when I looked inside, I didn't comprehend what I was seeing. Mortal legs, dressed in gray pants. A white T-shirt, hands folded over his stomach. One piece of his chest was missing—a clean black hole about the size of a bullet wound, right where his heart should've been. His eyes were closed. His skin was pale. Blond hair...and a scar running along the left side of his face.

The body in the coffin was Luke's.

She'd known this was coming all along, reliving these horrible memories of Percy's could lead to no other choice of words than those, and yet Thalia still felt that gasp of air pass her lips. A traitorous tear slipped from her cheek.

She couldn't just sit here right now. She didn't care how weak or childish it felt, a betrayal of her own body as she jumped up with bile in her throat blocking her scream of protest.

This was not something she'd ever wanted to hear in vivid detail, and her mind claimed some protection from that as she stormed out of the room without a word...leaving a storm behind.

Percy gave her a thirty-second head start as he dodged a lightning cloud to go after her. Jason muttered something about raincoats as he ducked into the nearest room, but Percy felt eyes on the back of his neck until he very cleverly and with Sherlockian skill figured out which room she'd tried to barricade herself in by the loudest bass guitar he'd ever heard in his life.

He pushed the door open, one hand trying to reflexively come up and cover his ear to stop it bleeding. Thalia was standing with her hand inside the fridge where a large stereo was blasting music, her fingers still managing to fiddle with the links of her bracelet on that wrist awkwardly with the other.**

The lyrics weren't exactly cheery either, what he could make out through the screaming.

He knew he was probably going to get all of his bones shocked like a stupid cartoon outline and his hair would never lie flat again for this, but he went around beside her and waved his hand experimentally in front of her face to at least let her know he was here.

Her mouth twitched, the smallest degree, but her brow furrowed in concentration and somehow the music got louder. His teeth were vibrating in his skull. His eardrums felt like somebody was crumpling up sandpaper in them.

Stubbornness set in though as he leaned closer and blew on her face, disturbing the hair that was swaying along to the beat.

Her eyes snapped open, electricity crackled from her nose and he really hoped she never decided to get a nose ring, but she took her hand off the speaker and it finally dulled into a background noise as his ears popped. If he wasn't in the ocean he'd probably never get his hearing back.

"What are you, five?" She scowled. "You think I'm going to start whining you're breathing the same air as me?"

"Nah," he shrugged, "I just knew if I tapped you on the shoulder you would have murdered me without hesitation. This seemed safer."

"I probably can't kill you down here," she said with the confidence of one who had really considered it. "I don't want to hear the rest of that. Come get me when you're back in the maze."

"Fair," Percy promised. "Just wanted to check if you need anything besides new eardrums first. Punching bag? Black liquorice?"

She smiled against her will he did remember the kind of candy she liked.

He had to ruin the sweet moment though with a classic Percy, "I know you're beating yourself up, and you shouldn't. You couldn't have done anything differently."

"Go away Percy," she ground out, smile vanishing.

"What could you do?" He insisted. "Not saved his life on that hill? Pretend to join his side to talk him out of this? Annabeth thought of every plan and never found one crazy enough to use, you couldn't have changed-"

"I know!" She snapped as loud as the music had been. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "That's the worst part! I know I couldn't have fixed this and I hate him and I hate myself for hating him and I, I hate that I loved him!"

She stopped with a gasp, another exhale of air that fizzled with electricity between them and made Percy's heart zap like a paddle blast he had not needed. He swatted his chest impatiently, ignoring his fingers twitching against their will as his nerves were clearly standing on end too.

He watched her turn away, her hand reaching for the radio. Gods knew how long she'd been holding all that in. He suspected she'd never talked to Annabeth about this, or at least, it hadn't ended any better than grumpy silence if they started, considering that's all he got out of Annabeth defending Luke. He highly suspected she wouldn't talk to the other Hunters about this, the boy-hating club would just take her side and agree Luke wasn't worth the wasted breath and move on.

No one who was willing to listen without taking sides. She just needed space from any judgy opinion.

"Okay," he managed before the spark from her fingers could make contact. "I'll come get you like you asked."

"Thanks," she whispered.

He got to the door, but the music didn't start again.

"Do you really think that Percy?" She asked, face still turned away. "That we really couldn't have done anything differently?"

"Yeah," he said. He didn't need to know the whole story, or if this was all he'd found out in his life and the war was still raging on. He still believed it no matter the outcome, the two of them had done everything they could to save as many lives as possible.

"Right," she muttered with distaste. "So why put myself through listening to it, it won't change anything. It only makes me hate everything I ever remember about him."

"Right," he agreed, "no need to put yourself through that."

She hated Percy for not making this easy on her and insisting she should come hear every detail anyway or ask what she was hiding from. She knew she was playing right into his manipulative hand by falling for the 'I'm only on your side' smile on his face. If she didn't find a way to stab some nonvital part of him through that Achilles curse than she'd consider this trip a failure.

"Right," she echoed as she stomped around the bed.

He stayed in the doorway with that stupid smile. "Sure you don't need anything?"

"Move Perky!"

He stepped aside with his hands raised and she cussed him out all the way back he was taller than her and yet she could still drop-kick his ass. Why was she doing this to herself?!

She felt insane all of a sudden, like she'd been trying to convince herself she could go back to the innocence of it all. She knew all the signs coming and knew how it ended, but there was nothing she could do to turn a blind eye to it anymore. It had hit, and she just had to keep going...

They came back in to see the clouds had mostly subsided to murky black swirls that were escaping and dispersing out of the cracks in every wall, with everybody having an umbrella in hand and chilling in place like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

They were getting oddly good at that.

"How the hell do you make it rain underwater anyways?" Alex asked, sticking his hand out from under the pink and green nylon to catch a few drops, watching it fall through the cracks in the floor with interest.

"Hey Nico," Will grinned, staying close underneath Nico's arm hoisting a solid black one instead of holding his own. He looked ridiculous as ever all scrunched up and doubled over, but he had a stupidly delighted smile on his face while cupping his hands to collect some. Nico half expected to be splashed, until it spilled over Will's smooth palms to splatter into the puddle at their feet as he grinned and finished, "I think this is getting out of hand."

"So help me Solace, I will find a way to drown you down here," Nico said fondly.

"You're just mad you didn't think of that joke in time Nico," Magnus chuckled, shaking out his banana yellow umbrella and tucking it underneath his feet like he was sure he was going to need it again.

Jason was humming 'rain, rain, go away,' from under his purple umbrella and watching Thalia with those same deep, trusting blue eyes as when she'd first laughed and sang that song with him on an old, broken toy she'd stolen from a traders show to give to him. Unlike 'normal kids', that's how they'd learned their ABC's and 'twinkle twinkle little start.'

The old man bonking his head had been his favorite part. He was to young to get the joke the rain would never stop for them...only to be proven wrong as the others folded theirs up too. She supposed every storm had to run out of rain eventually.

"Sorry," Thalia sighed all the same.

"Pssh, I've gotten them all ten times more wet than this," Percy reminded.

"Anyways," Alex said loudly while Thalia struggled on whether she should address what Percy just said or not. She would either turn it into a competition or try to make him hear the double meaning and while both would be entertaining, Alex decided he had to be the mature one and finish one catastrophe before starting another.

I should have stabbed him right then. I should've brought the point of Riptide down with all my strength.

Nico resisted the impulse to tell Percy that wouldn't have worked anyway. Luke might have been in a state of in-between, he'd sensed that the closer they'd drawn something was off in that place like a soul that was screaming out and would need help being released.

Riptide wouldn't have done the trick though, not with the Achilles curse already in place to house Kronos's body.

But I was too stunned. I didn't understand. As much as I hated Luke, as much as he had betrayed me, I just didn't get why he was in the coffin, and why he looked so very, very dead.

Jason felt a horrible, sick feeling this is what all of Luke's planning had been leading up to. Some final sacrifice Kronos had needed. Wasn't it supposed to be some child of the big three to bring Kronos back? Wasn't that what this was all about? Had Luke thought he'd be good enough and his death was in vain? It was a sad, yet horribly fitting ending to the guy that had started all of this.

Then the voices of the telekhines were right behind me.

"What has happened!" one of the demons screamed when he saw the lid. I stumbled away from the dais, forgetting that I was invisible, and hid behind a column as they approached.

Magnus and Alex exchanged a whole conversation with just one look. They did not like Luke, and whatever was happening in this Greek story was well beyond them to understand.

What they did hear was the mental rant Percy was giving himself over there about losing his chance and how they were going to hear that verbally with extra effects later if this didn't end well, which had never been likely from the start.

"Careful!" the other demon warned. "Perhaps he stirs. We must present the gifts now. Immediately!"

"Swords in bed, they'll replace breakfast, love, and healthcare in no time with that method," Will said dully. This was just a horrible place to imagine from every angle and between that, and actually getting some rain in this dingy place with still not a hint of sunshine in sight was seriously starting to depress him. He longed for the natural world again more every chapter.

The two telekhines shuffled forward and knelt, holding up the scythe on its wrapping cloth. "My lord," one said. "Your symbol of power is remade."

Silence. Nothing happened in the coffin.

"That was not an impressive enough speech to get anyone to wake up," Alex scoffed. "They should try it with coffee and donuts."

"Will did just establish they think their idea is better and I don't think even you could change their mind," Magnus shrugged.

"You fool," the other telekhine muttered. "He requires the half-blood first."

Ethan stepped back. "Whoa, what do you mean, he requires me?"

Alex made a really suggestive, double-clicking sound with his mouth that made them all groan in disgust and Jason threw a bit of his beanbag at him.

"I'm sorry for putting us in the gutter but I'm electing we don't stay there," Thalia's voice was hoarse with stress. To anyone not paying attention she just hadn't thought the joke was funny and was still taking this in stride.

Alex was not one of those people and bobbed his head once in apology, mock zipping his mouth shut as he continued reading.

"Don't be a coward!" the first telekhine hissed. "He does not require your death. Only your allegiance. Pledge him your service. Renounce the gods. That is all."

"No!" I yelled. It was a stupid thing to do,

"True, but ramming a bus into the side of a tunnel is still your top impulse moment," Jason promised.

"If saving this guy's life the first time didn't convince him you knew more than these monsters I don't think shouting in his face will," Magnus agreed.

"I never shouted in his face?" Will mock grinned in confusion.

Nico pretended to spray a water bottle in his face, "bad joke, bad!"

Will laughed in delight and swatted real water still dripping from his hair, which got the most mild of chuckles out of everybody else in the room.

but I charged into the room and took off the cap.

"Annabeth's going to be so pissed at you for revealing her secret weapon, waving it around like that," Thalia managed some attempt at her usual tone.

"She can't do any worse to me?" But Percy somehow managed to phrase that as a question anyway.

"Ethan, don't!"

"Trespasser!" The telekhines bared their seal teeth. "The master will deal with you soon enough. Hurry, boy!"

"Ethan," I pleaded, "don't listen to them. Help me destroy it."

Ethan turned toward me, his eye patch blending in with the shadows on his face. His expression was something like pity. "I told you not to spare me, Percy. 'An eye for an eye.' You ever hear that saying? I learned what it means the hard way—when I discovered my godly parent. I'm the child of Nemesis, Goddess of Revenge. And this is what I was made to do."

"Could a goddess have a child that could have revenge against her? That sounds redundant," Magnus frowned.

"As Luke himself has proven, we're not hard-wired to use our powers for our parents unconditionally," Nico frowned. He still felt like he hadn't found a balance between defining himself and who his dad was.

He turned toward the dais. "I renounce the gods! What have they ever done for me? I will see them destroyed. I will serve Kronos."

The building rumbled. A wisp of blue light rose from the floor at Ethan Nakamura's feet. It drifted toward the coffin and began to shimmer, like a cloud of pure energy. Then it descended on the sarcophagus.

Each time a half-blood joins us, the Olympians grow weaker and we grow stronger. He grows stronger." Luke pointed to the gold sarcophagus... Luke himself had promised this was exactly what was happening. Not one of them had wanted to see it in action, here in as vivid a detail what a few words could do. If only Alex had the power to kill a whole word, he knew which he'd start with right now.

Luke sat bolt upright. His eyes opened, and they were no longer blue.

They were golden, the same color as the coffin. The hole in his chest was gone. He was complete. He leaped out of the coffin with ease, and where his feet touched the floor, the marble froze like craters of ice.

Thalia pressed her hand to her mouth. She didn't know what she was holding in, a scream, a gasp, a sob. It didn't matter. It was staying where it was.

He looked at Ethan and the telekhines with those horrible golden eyes, as if he were a newborn baby, not sure what he was seeing. Then he looked at me, and a smile of recognition crept across his mouth.

"This body has been well prepared." His voice was like a razor blade running over my skin. It was Luke's, but not Luke's. Underneath his voice was another, more horrible sound—an ancient, cold sound like metal scraping against rock.

Percy had always heard those voices together side by side from one of his very first dreams. It still didn't prepare him to hear them as intrinsically tied together as Backbiter now was.

"Don't you think so, Percy Jackson?"

I couldn't move. I couldn't answer.

Kronos threw back his head and laughed. The scar on his face rippled.

"Luke feared you," the Titan's voice said. "His jealously and hatred have been powerful tools. It has kept him obedient. For that I thank you."

"He's not welcome," Percy managed through gritted teeth. He could feel that guinea pig in him once more squeaking in terror and telling him to run, but he easily overrode it with anger at Luke for doing this to himself. One swipe, that's all he needed, one chance with his sword before this could possibly somehow still get worse.

Ethan collapsed in terror. He covered his face with his hands.

There was no mocking to be had, no superior laughs for the comeuppance of his words. This was something no mortal should ever have to lay eyes on.

The telekhines trembled, holding up the scythe.

Finally I found my nerve. I lunged at the thing that used to be Luke, thrusting my blade straight at his chest, but his skin deflected the blow like he was made of pure steel. He looked at me with amusement. Then he flicked his hand, and I flew across the room.

Another tear traced down Thalia's cheek, and she hated herself for that. Her nails were digging into the side of her cheek and she did not unclench any part of herself, sitting still as a tree once more as if a once cursed slumber would help the pain of this all go in easier.

I slammed against a pillar. I struggled to my feet, blinking the stars out of my eyes, but Kronos had already grasped the handle of his scythe.

"Ah...much better," he said. "Backbiter, Luke called it. An appropriate name. Now that it is re-forged completely, it shall indeed bite back."

"What have you done to Luke?" I groaned.

Kronos raised his scythe. "He serves me with his whole being, as I require. The difference is, he feared you, Percy Jackson.

"He hid that well," Jason frowned. He didn't think Luke left his secret diary lying around for notes over that, but he would have liked to hear it from the horse's mouth. Jealousy, hatred, superiority could all easily be applied to Luke, but fear?

Then Jason's eyes flickered to Thalia, and he realized Luke was afraid of exactly what happened, what Thalia herself had once feared of Percy. That he would take away those most important to him. Kronos probably kept feeding the worst of this to delude Luke long enough he never realized he'd done that to himself as Luke's once best friend stayed frozen with this pain.

He wanted to do something for her, anything. He would have stolen Zeus's thunderbolt to smite this hybrid monster, he wanted to smack Percy for dragging her back in here.

All any of them could do was just get through it.

I do not."

That's when I ran.

"Character continuity," Nico gave him a big thumbs up. Percy would have assumed he was being mocked if Nico didn't look him right in the eye with sincerity. "It's like Echidna all over again."

"I've grown some over the years," Percy grinned, "I know how to pronounce Charon now."

"We all go at our own pace," Nico nodded along.

There wasn't even any thought to it. No debate in my mind about—gee, should I stand up to him and try to fight again? Nope, I simply ran.

But my feet felt like lead. Time slowed down around me, like the world was turning to Jell-O. I'd had this feeling once before, and I knew it was the power of Kronos. His presence was so strong it could bend time itself.

"Run, little hero," he laughed. "Run!"

Percy shivered, he still remembered the feeling like his blood was infected with ice. There had been no source of water, nothing he could have done. He studied his shaking fingers that hadn't even drawn his sword on instinct in here, that's how futile he knew this was. Why wasn't he dead? Of all the times he'd asked himself that, it really didn't seem like there was an answer this time-

I glanced back and saw him approaching leisurely, swinging his scythe as if he were enjoying the feel of having it in his hands again. No weapon in the world could stop him. No amount of celestial bronze.

He was ten feet away when I heard, "PERCY!"

Rachel's voice.

"What, took, you, so, long," Will swatted Nico's shoulder with every word, sadly the only available person here he could harangue for this. "Every one of you is a disobedient protective nutjob! How did Percy even make it five steps without you guys coming to save his bacon!" He was still smacking him on the shoulder with a pretty steady rhythm too.

It was light, and playful, like a kitten batting at him. Nico smiled at the casual contact and shrugged, which didn't dislodge Will's beat. "Annabeth told us to wait there, Rachel said she was coming, and I followed. It took, um, maybe sixty seconds, but it was a long tunnel and when we saw the telekhines we didn't have our own invisibility hat so we had to move slow."

Will huffed and crossed his arms, muttering about the lot of them all about to give him a heart attack.

Something flew past me, and a blue plastic hairbrush hit Kronos in the eye.

"Ow!" he yelled. For a moment it was only Luke's voice, full of surprise and pain.

Thalia couldn't stop the noise that escaped her. An eerily similar yelp of pain like it had echoed through time right to her. That this one moment couldn't have lasted forever. That was all that needed to be done to knock some sense back into him.

How awful did that make her? That she'd rather he be frozen in pain like that in his own body forever than possessed and disintegrated from the inside out as this thing took him over?

"Sorry Thalia," Percy couldn't help but whisper, moving to gently put his arm over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I know. Me too." she whispered, eyes on the floor even as she gave his wrist a squeeze. Being sorry didn't make it feel better.

My limbs were freed and I ran straight into Rachel, Nico, and Annabeth, who were standing in the entry hall, their eyes filled with dismay.

"Luke?" Annabeth called. "What—"

I grabbed her by the shirt and hauled her after me.

Percy's hand grasped at nothing in here, as usual, though his feet twitched and the cold still felt like it was seeping in. The orange of her shirt had looked faded, the black letters peeling. She'd gotten a new one yesterday before they left camp. The gray in her hair had stood out more than ever, her face ghastly pale like being in Luke's mere presence had been aging her faster than them all.

Had Luke/ Kronos seen her and caused a second's more hesitation? Would it have been enough to draw them apart if they'd forced them back into that sarcophagus?

She'd saved his life in that arena with the tip about Gaia, now he returned the favor by saving her from Luke. It had to be that simple. Even if she did hate him for dragging her away kicking and screaming, he really didn't care. Like the sirens all over again, he'd always save her from herself.

I ran as fast as I've ever run, straight out of the fortress. We were almost back to the Labyrinth entrance when I heard the loudest bellow in the world—the voice of Kronos, coming back into control. "AFTER THEM!"

It hadn't been about impressing Percy, as Nico had sneered and a spark of anger always easily at the surface of his mind caught to life at that moment. It had been pure obstinance of being hunted down that had made him lash out with a power he'd never known to touch before.

"No!" Nico yelled. He clapped his hands together, and a jagged spire of rock the size of an eighteen-wheeler erupted from the ground right in front of the fortress. The tremor it caused was so powerful the front columns of the building came crashing down. I heard muffled screams from the telekhines inside. Dust billowed everywhere.

We plunged into the Labyrinth and kept running, the howl of the Titan lord shaking the entire world behind us.

It wasn't until Alex had finished and silently got up to hand the book to Percy, only to sign to Magnus in very choppy and slow words as he sat back down, 'I need your help to plan the best hairbrush-themed party for Rachel' did he realize he'd gone silent and his eyes were swimming with tears of laughter. Showing anything of the sort would have made Thalia really start crying for a wholly other reason though.

He nodded and smiled back, thinking how lucky he was to have landed in here with these guys as Thalia coughed and snapped at Percy to get a move on, her voice frostier than the South Pole.

Percy of course did so without comment or question, pulling his arm away and giving Thalia the space she needed.

PJOPJOPJOPJO

No, they did not stop and laugh about Rachel hitting a Titan with a blue hairbrush. Thalia was in pain over this and there will be respectful silence for their fellow person during that.

They will, however, laugh their ass off in the next chapter along with Percy when there's been a little time to cool. Don't worry, you'll all get your chuckles while I have my emotional constipation about Thalia finally relieved.

*The one and only detail that bothered me about Chalice of the Gods. Percy's worn her hat plenty of times before and never felt an itchy sensation. My headcannon for this change is that Athena did this as a reminder of Annabeth's hubris in the hopes it would save her daughter from her fatal flaw in the future, even if it took a while to kick in when she got it back in The Staff of Serapis. Otherwise, I can't get enough of psychoanalyzing how far their relationship has come from these books to that.

**If you're curious about the song I imagine Thalia was listening to during that scene, it's Downfall by Trust Company.

[caputvulpinum]

this might be a multipart ask so I’m gonna come right out the gate with the nickname “Dio anon”

SO. i finally caved and started using tiktok this summer, I followed more than 2 people and I started using it more than once every two weeks. after a few weeks I found a cosplayer who is writing a modern Greek gods series centered around Dionysus and Apollo, and most of their account is that. i liked it a lot and went through all their videos and started following them: they’re very pretty and give me gender envy, I like their Dionysus cosplay, and I’ve always liked Dionysus as a god in general.

and also. I’ve been following you and cryptotheism for longer than I found that cosplayer. I started following some pagan accounts on tiktok too, I’ve always found it interesting. but I am atheist; I don’t begrudge other peoples practices at all, I just can’t get over my skepticism with /me/ doing it. I have said especially when I was younger that if I did believe in any religion, it would be the Norse or Greek pantheon, though this came from me reading Percy Jackson and watching how to train your dragon lol so there isn’t much stock in that

so I like their content, and I follow pagan accounts on here and tiktok, and I especially get into Dionysus. I do research on the god himself, etc., and then I can’t remember specific signs but like. I get multiple tiktok videos that are like “yeah I was skeptical at first but then x and y happened and I figured out (z) was trying to contact me” and they started practicing, which sounds eerily like what’s going on with me, and then the videos like “Z god might be trying to reach you by showing you x and y signs” and I have some that match with the ones shown for Dionysus, and I’ve been considering attempting practice? like I went on Etsy for things for a little altar and everything (didn’t get anything yet though)

so long story short. I cannot tell if this is my hyperfixation with the modern series that cosplayer is writing (fictional, not educational about them) and that’s why I’m so interested in Dionysus specifically, OR if it’s actual occult stuff and I should attempt it. and if I do, how to get over the skepticism and the mindset that everything is scientific and occultism, for me at least, isn’t real. (sorry for the essay 😅 I’ve been thinking about this for months)

While I don't want to discount or dismiss your experiences out of hand, I do want to point something out:

You admit yourself that all of this started happening after you started involving yourself more and more in TikTok's pagan and pagan-adjacent communities. That right there is my biggest red flag.

This isn't to say it's impossible or even perhaps unlikely that you might gain something out of paganism and the occult, but I always want to stand by my own principle of mundane before magic. The likelihood of anything being supernatural is always exponentially smaller than a more logical, skeptical conclusion.

In this case, I'd be more worried about whether or not you're being influenced less by a god and more by the algorithms of engagement and interaction of relevant TikTok circles. You need to make certain that the signs and such you're seeing are actually supernatural or if you're just seeking out justification/endorphins/a way into this community now that you've started broaching its edges and you're curious if you might enjoy being in it.

Again, I don't want this to sound like I'm completely dismissing you out of hand. But before anything else here, I feel I have a responsibility to get you to really think about the origins of all of this so that you don't just get sucked into the algorithms as it were.

[danpuff-ao3]

Comfort Characters

@givereadersahug wrote about Comfort Characters and I thought I'd do the same!

This was always a weird concept for me to consider. Like...do I have a comfort character? The answer feels sort of obvious, but in the way that both yes and no feel obvious. Thus: the dilemma.

When it comes to fandom, I read so much angst, whump, darkfic, etc. And I favor portrayals of characters that are real, gritty, imperfect, and messy. My fandom preferences feel a bit at odds with the word "comfort." But...I do find a strange sense of comfort in these subjects and these characters, don't I?

And with that in mind...let me answer the dang question, yeah?

To really get the full picture, I think first we need to focus on what the Harry Potter books mean to me.

In recent years, with the author's outrageous and shameless vitriol, being a fan of HP has been challenging. It feels wrong to love this fandom so much, when the author shows such unmitigated hate.

The problem is: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was published in the U.S. in 1998. (Usually I remember HP was published in 1997, but I just did a Google check for the U.S. publication to make sure I had my facts straight!) I was six years old when the books came out here. I was a bookworm since I could read! I inhaled books at an alarming rate. But no book from my childhood stuck out to me more than Harry Potter. I don't remember life before those books. And they were probably the first books I ever reread. And I never stopped rereading them. I'm not sure I've read anything more times than I've read those books.

Are they a literary masterpiece? Of course not. But they are whimsical, magical, joyful, colorful, touching, adventurous, and just plain fun! More so when I discovered fandom properly and my creativity ran loose in fanfiction.

My childhood was not especially good or happy, and these books were my escape. The fandom was my escape. Whenever life was dark or scary or hurtful, I had somewhere to turn. I had no one in my real life I could turn to. But I had these characters. And I had the friends I made through fandom. Facts that hold true even to this day, though I've escaped all the worst life had thrown at me (up until this point, at least!)

The books and fandom were a great source of comfort to me. And a large part of it must be because of the characters that were such a comfort to me.

Of course, my two comfort characters make up my beloved OTP.

Severus Snape, who I loved from the start. Which is funny when you think about little 6 year old Danni mooning over the "mean teacher." The dark mystery of him seduced me even then! He was clever, and creative, and cutting. He was the bad guy who wasn't really a bad guy, which blew my little socks off!

Harry Potter, of course...our titular character. My partner now likes to joke that I'm a "main character simp." (Hello, Harry Potter and Percy Jackson and Rand al'Thor...) I can't help it, okay? But Harry was always such a precious bean. Wide-eyed awe for magic. Spunky and bold, in spite of his poor life circumstances. The sort of fearlessness I admired, but could never quite replicate. My whole life was tied up in fear. I was scared of so much for so long. Harry's openness and honesty and bravery drew me in.

But those were the simpler, surface-level attractions for a young girl. But I'm not a young girl anymore. I'm a woman who grew up with these characters. I watched Harry grow and change; I watched him learn; I watched his trials and errors; his failures and his successes; I watched him save the day. And for Severus Snape, rather than moving forward, we looked back. I watched his story unfold in all of its horrible, messy glory. And I fell more and more in love with them both.

Harry and Severus both came from troubled backgrounds. Severus represents the stark reality. How deeply those wounds impact you, and how they don't always heal. Harry represented the ideals. All that I hoped to be; the behavior I respected and the principles I learned.

Harry overcome his circumstances and became a truly good person in spite of it all. But "good" doesn't mean without flaw. And his strength doesn't mean no damage was left behind.

On the flip side, Severus' trauma pushed him along a dark road. He reacted poorly. He made bad decisions. But hope wasn't lost, was it? Bad decisions didn't mean he could be written off as a villain. He was so deeply wounded, and he carried on despite that. The pain of his past plagued his every moment, but he still moved forward and kept fighting through it all. And for all the ways his trauma had made him flawed, there was still goodness in him. He was still worthy of love and respect. He was still capable of great deeds.

They are both men who were hurt by their life's circumstances, and who were bound by terrible fate. And they chose to embrace that. They chose to keep doing and being better, even when they screwed up. They never let life keep them down.

So much in them speaks to me. They can share my pain. And they give me hope and strength to keep going. And in them and all their messy, imperfect glory, I can reflect upon myself. And in loving them for their best and worst qualities, I can accept and love them in myself.

...and then I make them fall in love again and again and again (and again and again) (and again and again and again.) And that brings me even more comfort. And joy. And endless entertainment. And emotions. And basically all the good things life has to offer. Snarry for life, if you didn't already know I was a massive Snarry stan.

[cappymightwrite]

Jon Snow, Manfred & The Byronic Hero: Part 2

Previous Posts: PART 1

Hopefully Part 1 served as a good introduction on the topic and characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as how Jon Snow in particular is likely an iteration of this figure. But now we come to the real meat of this meta series — a closer look at Byron's dramatic poem Manfred (1816–1817), and more importantly, its titular character in comparison to Jon Snow. I was originally going to do an analysis and comparison of two key episodes in Manfred and A Storm of Swords, Jon VI, but have since decided to give that its own post... that's right kids, there will be a part 3!

(Detail from Lord Byron, Thomas Phillips, 1813)

So... why Manfred? Why not Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, or The Corsair, or Don Juan, or any other work by Lord Byron? Well, I'll tell you why, my sweet summer children. It's because of THIS:

Manfred/Manfryds and Byrons in ASOIAF, by order of first appearance and publication:

Ser Manfred Swann (ASOS, Jaime VIII)

Ser Manfred Dondarrion (The Hedge Knight)

Manfred Lothston (The Sworn Sword)

Manfryd o' the Black Hood (AFFC, Brienne I)

Manfryd Yew (AFFC, Jaime V)

Ser Byron the Beautiful (AFFC, Alayne II, TWOW, Alayne I)

Ser Byron Swann (ADWD, Tyrion III)

Manfryd Merlyn of Kite (ADWD, Victarion I)

Manfryd Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool (The Princess and the Queen, TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (Fire and Blood)

Like... what the hell, George?

I find this very interesting, very interesting indeed! *cough* intentional, very intentional *cough* And I have to thank @agentrouka-blog for reminding me of the existence of these Manfreds/Manfryds, and thus pointing me in this particular direction. This evidence is, for me, my smoking gun, it's why I feel justified in exploring this specific work. In my opinion, it really strongly confirms that GRRM is aware of Manfred, he is aware of its author — as a literary name, it is pretty much exclusively connected to Byron, it's like Hamlet to Shakespeare, or Heathcliff to Emily Brontë. In fact, GRRM likes it enough to use this name several times in fact, its frequency of use aided by a slight variation on its spelling.

So, as we can see, there are a striking number of Manfred/Manfryds (9!!) featured in the ASOIAF universe, whereas Byron (2) is used a bit more sparingly — perhaps because the latter, if more liberally used, would become far more recognisable as an overt literary reference? Interestingly, though, we can see a direct link between the two names as both bear the surname Swann: Ser Manfred Swann and Ser Byron Swann (note the exact spelling of Manfred here, as opposed to Manfryd). Ser Byron was alive during the Dance of Dragons and died trying to kill the dragon Syrax, whereas Ser Manfred was alive during Aegon V's reign and had a young Ser Barristan as his squire. So, in terms of ancestry, Byron came before Manfred, which makes sense since Lord Byron created the character of Manfred; he is his authorial/literary progenitor, if you will.

But why Swann, though? Is there any significance to that surname? Well, I did a little bit of digging and turned up something very interesting, at least in my opinion. In Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem Lines written among the Euganean Hills (1818), in its sixth stanza, the poet addresses the city of Venice... the “tempest-cleaving Swan” in the eighth line is clearly meant to be his friend and contemporary, Lord Byron, that city’s most famous expatriate:

That a tempest-cleaving Swan Of the songs of Albion, Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee;

(st. 6, l. 8-12)

Ah ha! But let's not forget that the Swanns are also a house from the stormlands — stormlander Swanns vs. "tempest-cleaving Swan." It seems a nice little homage, doesn't it? You could also argue that the battling swans of House Swann's sigil are a possible reference to Byron's fondness for boxing (he apparently received "pugilistic tuition" at a club in Bond Street, London). But to make the references to Byron too overt would ruin the subtly, so it isn't necessary, in my opinion, for the Swanns to be completely steeped in Byronisms.

All in all, it would be very neat of GRRM if the reasoning behind Byron and Manfred Swann is because of this reference to Lord Byron by Shelley. How these names and the characters that bear them might further reference Byron and Manfred is a possible discussion for another day! It's all just very interesting, very noteworthy, and highlights how careful GRRM is at choosing the names of his characters, even very minor, seemingly insignificant ones.

(Illustration of Villa Diodati from Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, Edward Finden, 1833)

Now onto the actual poem, and the ways in which Jon Snow could being referencing/paralleling Manfred. First things first, a bit of biographical context. Take my hand, and let's travel back in time, way back when, to 1816, the year in which Lord Byron left England forever, his reputation in tatters due to the collapse of his marriage and the rumours of an affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh (plus he was hugely in debt). No doubt, most of us are familiar with the story, but in 1816 Byron travelled to Switzerland, to a villa on Lake Geneva, where he met the Shelleys and suggested that they all pass the time by writing ghost stories.

The most famous story produced by them was, of course, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) — which may have served as the partial inspiration behind Qyburn and Robert Strong! Byron himself did begin a story but soon gave it up (yesss, we love an unproductive king); it was completed, however, by his personal physician, John William Polidori, and eventually published, under Byron's name, as The Vampyre (1819). But Byron didn't completely abandon the ghost story project, as later that summer, after a visit by the Gothic novelist M. G. Lewis, he wrote his "supernatural" tragedy, Manfred (1817).*

*I've seen it dated as 1816-17, but the crucial thing to rememeber, in terms of Byron's own biography, is that unlike The Bride of Abydos, he wrote it after his departure from England... this theme of exile will come up later.

Manfred is what is called a "closet drama", so is structured much like a play, with acts and scenes, though it wouldn't have actually been intended to be performed on stage. Indeed, Lord Byron first described Manfred to his publisher as "a kind of poem in dialogue... but of a very wild—metaphysical—and inexplicable kind": "Almost all the persons—but two or three—are Spirits... the hero [is] a kind of magician who is tormented by a species of remorse—the cause of which is left half unexplained—he wanders about invoking these spirits—which appear to him—& are of no use—he at last goes to the very abode of the Evil principle in propria persona [i.e. in person]—to evocate a ghost—which appears—& gives him an ambiguous & disagreeable answer..."*

*As in Part 1, more academic references will be listed in a bibliography at the end of this post.

To sum up the narrative for you, Manfred is a nobleman living in the Bernese Alps, "tormented by a species of remorse", which is never fully explained, but is clearly connected to the death of his beloved Astarte. Through his mastery of poetic language and spell-casting, he is able to summon seven "spirits", from whom he seeks the gift of forgetfulness, but this plea cannot be granted — he cannot escape from his past. He is also prevented from escaping his mysterious guilt by taking his own life, but in the end, Manfred does die, thus defying religious temptations of redemption from sin. He therefore stands outside of societal expectations, a Romantic rebel who succeeds in challenging all of the authoritative powers he faces, ultimately choosing death over submission to the powerful spirits.

According to Lara Assaad, the character of Manfred is the "Byronic hero par excellence", as he shares its typical characteristics found in Byron's other work (as discussed in Part 1), "yet pushed to the extreme." As noted above, there is a defiance to Manfred's character, which is arguable also found in Jon. Certainly though, in all of Byron's works, the Byronic Hero appears as "a negative Romantic protagonist" to a certain extent, a being who is "filled with guilt, despair, and cosmic and social alienation," observes James B. Twitchell. I'll come back to those characteristics presently.

As noted by Assaad, "Byron scholars seem to agree on this definition of the Byronic Hero, however they focus mainly, if not exclusively, on the dynamics of guilt and remorse." Indeed, it is only in more recent years that the incest motif, as well as the influence of Byron's own biography, have been more widely discussed. But perhaps the most compelling aspect of the Byronic Hero is his complex psychology. Although trauma theory only really started to flourish during the 1990s, thus providing deeper insight into the symptoms that follow a traumatic experience, it nevertheless seems, at least to Assaad, that "Byron was familiar with it well before it was first discussed by professionals and diagnosed." As we know, GRRM began writing his series, A Song of Ice and Fire, during the 1990s, and character trauma and its effects feature heavily in his work, most notably in the case of Theon Greyjoy, but also in the memory editing of Sansa Stark in terms of the infamous "Unkiss".*

*The editing, or supressing, of memories is not exclusive to Sansa, however. E.g @agentrouka-blog has theorised a possible memory edit with regards to Tyrion and his first wife Tysha.

But if we return back to that original quote, in which GRRM makes the comparison between Jon and the Byronic Hero, his following statement is also very interesting:

The character I’m probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Theon [Greyjoy] is the one I’d fear becoming. Theon wants to be Jon Snow, but he can’t do it. He keeps making the wrong decisions. He keeps giving into his own selfish, worst impulses. [source]

As noted by @princess-in-a-tower, there is a close correspondence between Jon and Theon, with each acting as the other's foil in many respects. In fact, Theon does sort of tick off a few of the Byronic qualities I discussed last time, most notably standing apart from society, that "society" being the Starks in Winterfell, due to him essentially being a hostage. Later on, we see him develop a sense of deep misery as well due to his horrific treatment at the hands of Ramsey Snow. Like Theon, his narrative foil, Jon is also a character deeply informed by trauma (being raised a bastard), but the way they ultimately process and express that specific displacement trauma differs profoundly — Theon expresses it outwardly through his sacking of Winterfell, whereas Jon turns his trauma notably inwards.*

*Obviously, I'm not a medical professional — I'm more looking at this from a literary angle, but the articles I've read for this post do include reference to real medical definitions etc.

Previously, I observed how being "deeply jaded" and having "misery in his heart" were key characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as Jon Snow — this trauma theory is a continuation of that. Indeed, to bring it back to Manfred, Assaad goes as far as stating that the poem's titular hero "suffers from what is now widely recognised as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)." I am purposely holding off on discussing what the origin of that trauma is, in relation to Manfred specifically, because, well... it needs a bit of forewarning before I get into it fully. Instead, let's look at the emotions it exacerabates or gives rise to, as detailed by Twitchell, and how they might be evident in Jon and his feelings regarding his bastard status.

(Jonny Lee Miller as Byron in the two part BBC series Byron, 2003)

Guilt

Does Jon suffer guilt due to him being a bastard and secretly wanting to "steal" his siblings' birthright? I'd say a strong yes:

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. – AGOT, Jon VIII He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. – ASOS, Jon XII

But I think Jon's sense of guilt also extends to the high expectations he sets for himself, his "moral superiority" in the face of his bastard status, as discussed in Part 1. He feels guilt pulling him in two different directions, in regards to Ygritte: guilt for loving her, for breaking his vows, and potentially risking a bastard, but also guilt for leaving her, for abandoning her, and potentially leaving her unprotected:

His guilt came back afterward, but weaker than before. If this is so wrong, he wondered, why did the gods make it feel so good? – ASOS, Jon III Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body... and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he'd left Jon's mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night's Watch. – ASOS, Jon VI "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her..."I wasn't strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I..." His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool. – ASOS, Jon VI

This guilt surrounding leaving the women/girls he cares about unprotected also extends to Arya. Yet it was his need to prove himself as something more than just a bastard, by joining the Watch, which initially prevents him from acting, and which also makes him feel guilt for being a hyprocrite:

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. – ADWD, Jon VI

I think there is a lack of reconciliation between Jon and his bastard status, between what being a bastard implies in their society: lustful, deceitful, treacherous, more "worldly" etc. Deep down, subconsciously, Jon really rebels against it. You can see that rebellion more clearly in his memories as a younger child, less inhibited:

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. – ASOS, Jon XII

But Jon knows this truth about himself, he knows that he has "always wanted it", and that causes him so much guilt because he can't allow himself to be selfish in that regard, because to do so would confirm for him his worst fears... that he truly is a bastard in nature as well as birth — treacherous, covetous, dishonourable.

Despair

As he grows up, learning to curb his emotional outbursts from AGOT, Jon appears more and more stoic upon the surface. But beneath that, buried in his subconscious in the form of dreams, you have this undyling feeling of despair, this trauma connected to his bastard status, his partially unknown heritage:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. – AGOT, Jon III

These recurring dreams, sometimes explicitly involving his unknown mother, sometimes not, represent a clear gap, a gaping blank in Jon's personal history and his perception of his identity:

"Sometimes I dream about it," he said. "I'm walking down this long empty hall. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. I don't even know who I'm looking for. Most nights it's my father, but sometimes it's Robb instead, or my little sister Arya, or my uncle." [...]

"Do you ever find anyone in your dream?" Sam asked.

Jon shook his head. "No one. The castle is always empty." He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. "Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf's shaggy white fur. – AGOT, Jon IV

"That always scares me", he says quite tellingly. From this key passage, in particular, we can see that Jon feels a deep rooted despair at essentially being unclaimed, unwanted... being without a solid (Stark) identity around which to draw strength and mould himself. He's afraid of being a lone wolf, because as we all know, "the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," (AGOT, Arya II).

This dream points him in the direction of the crypts — "somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to" — which actually does have the answers he seeks because that is where Lyanna Stark is buried. Yet Jon is "afraid of what might be waiting for [him]", and wants to "scream" with dispair because of the darkness. So, this need for a confirmed identity is a double edged sword, which will no doubt be further complicated when his true parentage is revealed.

Elsewhere, Jon's dreams continue to have this despairing quality to them, often involving Winterfell, the Starks, and especially Ned, which is very interesting on a psychological level:

The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night's Watch. – AGOT, Jon IV

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night's Watch now, not a frightened boy. – AGOT, Jon VII

But it is never "only a dream", is it?

And when at last he did sleep, he dreamt, and that was even worse. In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father's face, but he dared not tell Mormont that. – AGOT, Jon VIII

Even Jon's conscious daydreams in AGOT revolve around his dispairing search for a solid identity:

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. – AGOT, Jon VIII

A lot of these early dreams occur in A Game of Thrones, probably in response to his removal from Winterfell... his self exile. But later on in the series Jon continues to have dreams that tie him to the Starks and to Winterfell, ominous and sometimes despairing too. There's honestly too many instances to list, but if you want to understand the root of Jon's existential despair... it's in his dreams.

Cosmic Alienation

Cosmic alienation, now that's an interesting one in regards to Jon, since he definitely hasn't reached this state... yet. Life and his belief in the divine (the old gods) still hold meaning for him, but then he gets murdered by his black brothers. In the show, the writers hint at some cosmic alienation through Jon stating that he saw "nothing" whilst dead, but then they take it no further and generally do a piss poor job of post-res Jon. This characteristic of Manfred coming to the fore in Jon depends on what happens in The Winds of Winter, but I don't think it is at all that far fetched to assume that Jon will return to his body with a darker, altered perception of things.

Social Alienation

In Part 1, I discussed how Jon, like Byron's heroes, could be read as a "a rebel who stands apart from society and societal expectations." On a more psychological level, we can see how this Otherness, stemming from his bastard status, deeply affects Jon and his perception of himself and the world:

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. "Don't you usually eat at table with your brothers?"

"Most times," Jon answered in a flat voice. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them." – AGOT, Jon I

In his very first chapter, we see him quite literally alienated from the rest of his siblings, made to sit apart from them, an apparent necessity he seems fairly resigned to. Also in Part 1, I gave examples of instances in which Jon is mockingly called "Lord Snow," as well as a "rebel", "turncloak", "half-wildling", all of which serve to alienate him from the rest of the brothers of the Night's Watch.

Stannis gave a curt nod. "Your father was a man of honor. He was no friend to me, but I saw his worth. Your brother was a rebel and a traitor who meant to steal half my kingdom, but no man can question his courage. What of you?" – ASOS, Jon XI

The above interaction may seem on the surface to be about one thing — whether or not Jon will be of help to Stannis, offer him loyalty etc. — but tagged onto the end we have quite a poignant question: "what of you?" What are you, essentially. Who are you? The truth of his parentage may, in part, solve these questions... but it may also serve to alienate Jon from his perception of himself further. Ultimately, who exactly he is — what he believes in, who and what he fights for, etc. — will be solely his decision to make going forward.

So, the Byronic Hero, certainly in Manfred's case, but also in later iterations, is arguably traumatised by his own past. But regardless as to whether his trauma is related to a mysterious past, a secret sin, an unnamed crime, or incest, aka "secret knowledge", what is clear in Assaad's interpretation, is that the Byronic Hero is "living with the traumatic consequences of his own past and so suffers from PTSD." But why is Manfred traumatised, what is the specific cause of this trauma, or how might it reveal something deeper about Jon's own trauma? Now, here we come to the unavoidable... I'm going to start talking about Byronic incest and the pre-canon crush/kiss theory, and how it potentially parallels certain aspects of Manfred.

I should preface this by stating that I don't think Jon is suppressing trauma because he committed intentional incest with Sansa, but I do think (or at least somewhat theorise that) Byronic incest does come into play regarding his intense feelings of guilt and existential despair.

But still, stop reading now if are opposed to discussions of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory and the literary incest motif as a whole!

(Detail from The Funeral of Shelley, Louis Édouard Fournier, 1889)

Hey there to the depraved! If you aren't already familiar with the theory, here are some previous discussions/metas on the subject:

Full Blown Meta:

A Hidden and Forbidden Love by @princess-in-a-tower

Ask Answers (Long):

Jonsa as a more positive mirror to Jaime and Cersei? by @princess-in-a-tower, with additional comment by @jonsameta

Discussing the theory by @jonsameta

Evidence for pre-canon Jonsa? by @agentrouka-blog

Kissing in the godswood? by @agentrouka-blog

Why don't we read about Jon's reaction to Sansa and Tyrion? by @agentrouka-blog

More on Jon's supposed non-reaction by @agentrouka-blog, with additional comment made by @sherlokiness

A Jonsa "Unkiss"? by @fedonciadale

A hidden memory? by @fedonciadale

Sansa's misremembering by @fedonciadale

Descriptive parallels between A Song for Lya and Jonsa by @butterflies-dragons

Ask Answers (Short) & Briefer Mentions:

Jealous Jon by @princess-in-a-tower

Your new boyfriend looks like a girl by @butterflies-dragons

Like in Part 1, I've tried to cite as much as I could find, but as always, if anyone feels like I've missed someone important or that they should be included in the above list, please just drop me a line!

Now, it's a controversial theory, and not everyone's cup of tea — I think that's worth acknowledging! I myself am not wholly married to it, I'd be fine if it wasn't the case, but that being said, I can't in good faith ignore it when considering Lord Byron and the Byronic Hero. The incest is, unfortunately, very hard to ignore, both in his work and in his personal life. It's pretty hard to ignore in Manfred, for that matter, which is why I've held off talking about it... until now!

All aboard the Manfred incest train *choo choo* !!

First stop, Act II, scene one. Oh, wait, an annoucement from your conductor... apologies everyone, I purposely neglected to mention quite a key detail. Remember "Astarte! [Manfred's] beloved!", (II, iv, 136)? Yeah... it's heavily implied that Astarte is in fact Manfred's half-sister. *shoots finger guns* Classic Byron! *facepalms*

Oh, and that's not all! Let's consider the context surrounding the writing of this work for a moment, shall we? Unlike The Bride of Abydos (1813),* Manfred was written notably after the fallout of his incestuous affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, composed whilst in a self-imposed exile. *spits out drink* Woah, woah there cowboy... what in tarnation?! EXILE?!

*As referenced in Part 1, @rose-of-red-lake has written an excellent meta on the influence of Lord Byron's work (and personal life) on Jonsa, paying special attention to the half-siblings turned cousins in The Bride of Abydos.

Although, as noted by rose-of-red-lake, The Bride of Abydos bears strong parallels to the potential romance of Jon and Sansa, as well as Byron’s own angst regarding his relationship with Augusta Leigh, the context surrounding Manfred seems... dare I say it, even more autobiographical. Because like Byron himself, Manfred wanders around the Bernese Alps, solitary and guilt ridden, in a state of exile heavily evocative of Byron's own — as I mentioned earlier, the beginnings of Manfred occured whilst Byron was staying at a villa on Lake Geneva, in Switzerland... the Bernese Alps are located in western Switzerland. In light of this, I think it's very understandable that some critics consider Manfred to be autobiographical, or even confessional. The unnamed but forbidden nature of Manfred's relationship to Astarte is believed to represent Byron's relationship with his half-sister Augusta. But what has that got to do with Jon?

Look, I don't know how else to put this:

Byron self-exiles in 1816, first to Switzerland, to Lake Geneva, where it is unseasonably cold and stormy — his departure from England is due to the collaspe of his marriage to Annabella Milbanke, unquestionably as a result of the rumours surrounding his incestuous affair with his half-sister.

Displaced nobleman Manfred wanders the Bernese Alps, in a kind of moral exile, where "the wind / Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows / Began to glitter with the climbing moon" (III, iii, 46-48), traversing "on snows, where never human foot / Of common mortal trod" (II, iii, 4-5), surrounded by a "glassy ocean of the mountain ice" (II, iii, 7). He feels extreme, but unexplained guilt surrounding the death of his "beloved" Astarte, who is heavily implied to also be his half-sister.

In A Game of Thrones, Jon Snow chooses to join the Night's Watch, with the reminder that "once you have taken the black, there is no turning back" (AGOT, Jon VI). By taking the black, Jon arguably exiles himself from the rest of the Starks, from Winterfell, to a place that "looked like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice" (AGOT, Jon III). But we aren't given any indication that he does this due to incestuous feelings regarding a "radiant" half-sister, akin to Byron/Manfred, are we? And it's not like we have several Manfreds/Manfryds AND Byrons namedropped within the text, is it? Oh wait... we do. *grabs GRRM in a chokehold*

What the hell, George?!

(Lord Byron on His Deathbed, Joseph Denis Odevaere, c. 1826)

But lets get back on track here and take a closer look at that section of Manfred I mentioned at the beginning — Act II, scene one, aka the part where all the incest and supressed trauma really JUMPS out.

So, early in Act II, in the chamois hunter's abode (a chamois is a type of goat?), according Assaad's analysis, Manfred is "hyper-aroused by a cup of wine." The wine is offered in an attempt to calm Manfred; however, to the chamois hunter's great dismay, it instead agitates him and makes him utter words which are "strange" (II, i, 35). Rather than wine, Manfred sees "blood on the brim" (II, i, 25). His sudden agitation and erratic behaviour confound the chamois hunter, who observes that Manfred is losing his mind: "thy senses wander from thee" (II, i, 27). Assaad's analysis of this scene, which she believes "is the most revelatory in the entire play" discloses "a bitter truth: Manfred's traumatic past informs his present life."

We might compare this with Jon, in particular, how his dreams reveal certain bitter truths to do with his past, now subconsciously informing his present. I've already looked a bit at his crypt dream from AGOT, Jon IV, but we see a sort of recurrence of this dream again in ASOS, Jon VIII. The imagery of being in a crypt, somewhere underground, buried, in the dark, a place of ghosts and spirits, is extremely evocative. Indeed, to go back to Byron's own description of Manfred, the setting of a crypt is extremely suggestive of certain bitter truths "left half unexplained", of secrets buried... and we know that's true because the secret of Jon's parentage is hidden down there, in the form of Lyanna Stark.

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark... – ASOS, Jon VIII

I don't think it's outlandish to state that, unquestionably, Jon's bastard identity is a source of ongoing pain for him. I talked about the theme of despair in Jon's characterisation and it is very evident in the above, and it stems from this "bitter truth" of not being a trueborn Stark, of not being "welcome", or having a true place. The emotions/mindset this trauma, concerning his birth and identity, evokes in Jon is arguably what brings him, on first glance, so closely in line with the Byronic Hero:

Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed / The crypts were growing darker = A mysterious past / secret sin(s)

You are no Stark / I am no Stark = Deeply jaded

There is no place for you here / I am not welcome there / This is not my place = standing apart from society and societal expectations / social alienation

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell / He walked deeper into the darkness = Moody / misery in his heart

He fell to his knees / Forgive me = Guilt

He walked deeper into the darkness / Please, Father, help me / He fell to his knees = Despair

These aren't all the Byronic characteristics I've addressed in relation to Jon, but it is a substantial percentage of them, all encapsulated, in one way or another, within this singular dream passage. As far as what is fairly explicit in the text, being a bastard is Jon's "bitter truth", it is the "traumatic past inform[ing] his present life." But what is Manfred's "bitter truth", what past trauma is informing his present? And can it reveal a bit more about another layer to Jon's trauma? Because there is a key distinction — Manfred's trauma, his PTSD, stems from a specific event, notably triggered by the (imagined) "blood on the brim" of his wine, whereas for Jon, we have no singular event, we have no momentus experience, we just have this "truth."

As mentioned previously, Assaad has recognised the character of Manfred as displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). In Assaad's article, she remarks that "an experience is denoted as traumatic if it completely overwhelms the individual, rendering him or her helpless," and this is quite evident in the interaction between Manfred and the chamois hunter. Sharon Stanley, an educator and clinical psychotherapist, writes that "the word trauma has been used to describe a variety of aversive, overwhelming experiences with long-term, destructive effects on individuals and communities."

So, if trauma is related to an experience, or experiences, is it still accurate to say that Jon experiences trauma, connected to being a bastard? Because there is seemingly no singular or defining root experience, or event that it stems from, it just is… it is a compellation of several moments, revealed to the reader through Jon’s memories and/or dreams. What is being "left half unexplained” here?

Assaad makes reference to the American Psychiatric Association's definition of PTSD, in which it observes that for an individual to be diagnosed with PTSD, they have to suffer from one or more intrustion symptoms, one or more avoidance symptoms, two or more negative alterations, and two or more hyperarousal symptoms. The dreams Jon has certainly suggest something, but it seems like a stretch to say that, like Manfred, he is suffering from PTSD, right? We and Jon are very much aware that he is "no Stark", at least not in the sense that he is Ned's trueborn son, this isn’t something Jon is actively suppressing. By comparison, it is incontrovertible that Manfred committed something in the past, which he deeply wishes to forget and disassociate from:

Man. I say ’tis blood—my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours When we were in our youth, and had one heart, And loved each other as we should not love, And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, Where thou art not—and I shall never be. C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half—maddening sin

(II, i, 28-35)

However, we cannot be sure what this traumatic point of origin is, though we know that it is related to something he has done to his beloved Astarte, which subsequently led to her death. Many critics have suggested that his sin is that of incest, and as I noted earlier, that Manfred as a whole is more than just a bit autobiographical and/or confessional in nature. Manfred's incestuous sin therefore re-enacts Byron's incest with his half-sister Augusta. But regardless of the true cause, Manfred is traumatised by his past and cannot overcome it. Is there something in Jon’s past, that may have subconsciously, or consciously, influenced his departure to the Wall — his self exile — which he cannot overcome, and which is closely tied to the issue of and pain he feels due to being a bastard, not just the illegitimacy, but also the negative characteristics it assigns? Is there an event, or experience, we can pinpoint as the origin of Jon’s trauma and potential PTSD?

To circle back to Jonsa, there is some, not unfounded, debate amongst us concerning the validity of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory. I've always found it an interesting theory, but until now, I haven't really given it too much thought. In light of the Byron connection, however, as well as the textual analysis I have for Part 3, I think this scenario, as detailed by agentrouka-blog, seems more and more likely. And I don't say that lightly, I really don't. It is a somewhat uncomfortable speculation to make, even if the interaction was more innocent rather than explicit (this is the side I firmly fall down on), however, it’s ambiguity does potentially parallel Byron’s Manfred and Astarte. This post would be even longer if I included my side-by-side text comparisons, so you may have to trust me for the moment that there are some very striking similarities between Act II, scene I of Manfred, and Jon's milk of the poppy induced dream in ASOS, Jon VI, as well as the actual buildup to that vision.

But, that sounds frankly terrible doesn't it? And it doesn't bode well for his future relationship with Sansa, does it? And what does it mean if Jon is suffering from PTSD due to an incestuous encounter with Sansa? What does that mean for Sansa, Sansa who is doggedly abused and mistreated by men within the present narrative? This is awful, why would GRRM root their romance in something traumatic? Oh I hear you, and these are questions I needed to ask myself whilst compiling this. But you see... now bear with me here... it isn't the actual encounter itself that was traumatic, for either Jon or Sansa, and that is reflected in both their POVs, because, though they think about each other sparingly (explicitly at least), it is never done so negatively. No, the potential PTSD Jon suffers from this experience isn't connected to Sansa, to whatever occured between them. Rather, I believe, it's connected to either the fear, or the reality, that Ned, his assumed father, saw and/or caught him (either Sansa had left at this point, or didn't fully grasp the issue), and this fear, this guilt, this sense of despair, is made evident in this passage:

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red. – ASOS, Jon VI

That's the traumatic experience, I believe, not the kiss — yep, I strongly suspect there was a kiss. Moreover, Jon's recurring assertion, throughout the series, that he "will not father a bastard" is tied to this in some way, it’s tied to Ned, it’s tied to some sense of guilt and shame. It’s not tied to Sansa. But we'll look at this passage, what it means, what it parallels, and what directly precedes it, in comparison to Manfred, a lot more closely next time.

I'll leave you with a slight teaser though — the parallel that made me really sit up and take notice:

C. Hun. Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day 'T has thaw’d my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine. Come, pledge me fairly. Man. Away, away! there’s blood upon the brim! Will it then never—never sink in the earth?

(II, i, 21-26)

Note this imagery!!!

Maester Aemon poured it full. "Drink this."

Jon had bitten his lip in his struggles. He could taste blood mingled with the thick, chalky potion. It was all he could do not to retch it back up. – ASOS, Jon VI

In both instances, a drink is offered, with "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled". In Manfred's case, this is an explicit trigger for him, whereas for Jon? Well, it bit more hidden, a bit more buried, but this moment is, to my mind, the catalyst, because its imagery strongly evokes the colours of the weirwood tree — "blood" red and "chalky" white — you know, the "huge white weirwood" he later on envisions.

*spits out drink*

Maybe the magnitude of this parallel isn't completely evident as of yet, but it will be... or at least I hope it will be, so stay tuned for Part 3!

(Starting to run out of Byron pics so... I dunno, here's Rupert Everret, from The Scandalous Adventures of Lord Byron, 2009)

In Conclusion

To summarise, why is the Manfred connection so monumental to me? Why do I find the pre-canon kiss theory, specifically the scenario detailed by agentrouka-blog, now very hard to dismiss? Because:

The nine (!) Manfreds/Manfryds included within the text, as well as the two Byrons, one of which, the first mentioned in fact, first appears in Sansa's POV. But crucicially the direct link made by GRRM between Byron Swann and Manfred Swann.

The strength of the similarities that can be observed between Jon and the Byronic Hero, but also notably to Byron's Manfred, the "Byronic hero par excellence", according to Assaad. Especially the recurring emotions of guilt and despair, the latter exemplified perhaps most clearly in Jon's dreams.

The prominent theme of self-exile to escape something, something that perhaps cannot be openly stated, present in Manfred, Byron's own life, and Jon's narrative.

Those pesky half-sisters: Augusta, Astarte, and Sansa.

The PTSD symptoms clearly present in Manfred, but left "half unexplained", and seemingly not explained at all in Jon's POV — I'll dig more into this in Part 3.

The "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled" — more on that in Part 3, I hope you guys like in depth imagery analysis!

Obviously, this is all still just speculation on my part, and it's speculation in connection to a theory that is understandably controversial. I'd be happy to dismiss it... if it weren't for the above. So, I suppose I'm in two minds about it. On the one hand, however you look at it, it's more trauma in an already traumatic series... which is *sighs* not what you want for the characters you care strongly about. But on the other hand, that literary connection to Manfred (and by extension to actual Lord Byron), the way it's lining up, plus that comparison GRRM himself made between Jon and the Byronic Hero... that's all very compelling and interesting to me as a reader, as a former English literature student. So, I don't want it to be true because... incest hell. But then, I also want it to be true because then it makes me feel smart for guessing correctly.

But anyway, we're going to be descending into incest hell in Part 3, so... we'll just have to grapple with that when we come to it. I hope, if you stuck with it till the incesty end, that you enjoyed this post!

Stay tuned ;)

Bibliography of Academic Sources:

American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edn (Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Publishing, 2013); online edition at www.dsm5.org

Assaad, Lara, "'My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep': The Byronic Hero’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder", The Byron Journal 47, no. 2 (2019): 153–163.

Byron, George Gordon Noel, Byron’s Letters and Journals. Ed. Leslie A. Marchand. 12 vols. London: Murray, 1973–82.

Holland, Tom, "Undead Byron", in Byromania: Portraits of the Artist in Nineteenth- and Twentieth- Century Culture, ed. by Frances Wilson (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2000).

MacDonald, D. L. "Narcissism and Demonality in Byron’s 'Manfred'", Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal 25, no. 2 (1992): 25–38.

Stanley, Sharon, Relational and Body-Centered Practices for Healing Trauma: Lifting the Burdens of the Past (London: Routledge, 2016)

Twitchell, James B., The Living Dead: A Study of the Vampire in Romantic Literature (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1981).

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

 "What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

 The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

 If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

 "Of August?" she asks.

 "Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

 "Duh."

 Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

 "Good, because we have plans."

 She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

 "No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

 Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

 "Our Smarter House thing won an award."

 "No shit?"

 "Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

 She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

 Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

 "Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

 "No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

 "Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

 Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

 Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

 Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

 She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

 "I thought I had until two."

 "That was before I had the best idea."

 The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

 "First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

 Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

 Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

 Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

 Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

 "Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

 She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

 When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

 Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

 "The guy you've been seeing."

 How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

 She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

 Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

 "How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

 "Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

 Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

 "That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

 "So, for a few hours?"

 She shrugs. "More or less."

 "I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

 "Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

 Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

 "Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

 "Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

 "Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

 Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

 "Another business bro, I assume?"

 "He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

 She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

 "Ballet."

 Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

 “I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

 “Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

 “I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

 “The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

 Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

 “Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

 Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Congrats.”

 “Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

 Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

 “Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

 “You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

 She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

 Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

 “Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

 “2019 fall/winter?”

 Annabeth nods.

 “Styling?”

 “Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

 Throwing her head back, she groans.

 “What? What’s wrong?”

 “You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

 “Well… yeah, I was.”

 “Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

 Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

 “That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

 Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

 “Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

 Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

 “I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

 “Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

 Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

 “I don’t know…”

 “You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

 “What did you have in mind?”

 Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

 Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

 “They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

 Well. They are pretty cool.

 “It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

 Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

 “I haven’t even done anything.”

 “I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

 ***

 “Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

 “Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

 “Oh.”

 “Why?”

 “Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

 She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

 The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

 “Annabeth Chase.”

 She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

 Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

 Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

 “And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

 “You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

 “Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

 She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

 Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

 “Seriously?”

 “Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

 She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

 “Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

 “Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

 He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

 “I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

 This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

 “I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 He frowns. “You sure?”

 Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

 “You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

 Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

 There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

 Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

 “It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

 From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

 She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

 “As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

 She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

 “But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

 Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

 Hey, it’s her night, too.

 After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

 Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

 Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

 “...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

 “I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

 “You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

 “Rehab? Really?”

 “What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

 Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

 But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

 Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

 The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

 Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

 Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

 Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

 The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

 She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

 That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

 Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

 She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

 She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

 It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

 She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

 Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

 It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you  

[jerichomere]

MBS EPISODE EIGHHHHT

weak. I hate to say it but I could feel it in my heart from the start. It had good moments but this episode just didn’t bring it home. I’m going to break this up into my usual notes and then some general evaluation. Notes: What is the deal with curtain and food? He has so many weird scenes with meals.. there’s probably some hidden meaning here but I don’t know what it is And they didn’t get to chuck-root the school :((((( Constance? Wants to pour acid on curtain’s feet Haha I liked Kate’s little “Nyoope” when the recruiters found her Martina redemption and the fighting tetherball team, sure Jackson and Jillson get even more unhinged. they terrify me We got Kate yeeting Constance up the tower, but her bucket had a built in rope motor somehow WE GOT KATIE-KAT but we didn’t get Sorry it took me so long And Milligan’s still moody instead of joyous Go Constance, break the thing, yay Number Two and Rhonda had some real shippy energy in this episode and PLEASE they are SISTERS Two more close profile shots of curtain in this episode, one where he is physically shorter than Milligan but dominating the interaction, and one where he’s physically looking down at Reynie but Reynie’s getting to him. Reynie has a heart to heart and curtain passes out. That’s different. Sticky even said, “it’s anger” and he was like “no, it’s vulnerability” oooooookay then. The whisperer is not an intercom/loudspeaker. sheesh. So the kiddos leave and the twins talk, resolving nothing, then curtain escapes REYNIE AND MISS PERUMAL NO COMPLAINTS HERE *sobs* Kate and Madge at the end <3 Constance refuses adoption!?!?!?!??! And no age reveal obviously rip Sticky’s family redemption he’s going to the totally not made up Boatwright Academy now Mr Benedict is like, I love you all, no snowball fight, the end. SIKE Curtain, SQ, and a totally real engineer lady are on a BOAT. You know, I felt bad for the engineer this whole series, as she is portrayed as kind of doing the technical work hoping it’ll be used for good, while curtain abuses its practical application, but her mood really shifted in that last scene. She was like heheh hey guy that I know is definitely is evil, howabout this mysterious blueprint... are they really trying to set up the sequel. Some tree branches will have to get pretttty bent.

Evaluation: keep reading! (sorry it gets long)

To recap what I’ve said from the start, I think the casting is fantastic but the tone is wrong. The darker, more saturated filter, the isolating camera shots, and very understated music make things colder and stilted. This is a constant throughout the whole series. The book was warm, messy, and full of charm, which I didn’t feel watching the show.

characters were.. compromised? Mr B starts off with a LIE about test winners going to Boatwright Academy. That undermines EVERYTHING he does from then on. “Regrettable but necessary” DOESN’T cut it. He’s also just so anxious and jittery instead of his gentile, kind, strong book self. Just from the show, they didn’t frame his genius very well. He seems more like a fool. Not really confidence-inspiring. In the same way, Being directed to cheat is one thing, but Reynie should NOT have lied to SQ to manipulate him into seeing the forest or whatever. Yeah reynie felt bad about it and SQ called him on it, but this is like the core values of our protagonist team, the strong love for truth. Also, I feel like in the show Reynie’s leadership isn’t highlighted. Like, everyone else has their thing but you almost wonder why he’s framed as the main character. The girls got bonding and the boys got bonding but there was hardly opportunity for him to really bring the team together into a cohesive unit Also, as much as I love Number Two’s life of crime (because it’s funny), she too should have that love of truth, but instead regularly does unlawful things. AND they never explained her eating, and even stopped having yellow clothes :( Additionally, the side story of her and Rhonda’s friction (entertaining I suppose) also really changed the character dynamic. In the book, the adult team was unwavering and wise, a sturdy basis for the perilous missions of the children. But their internal strife, while adding drama, makes them seem unreliable and less absolutely good and trustworthy. And I think trust and integrity are key parts of the book’s solid narrative. Constance’s refusal of the adoption felt wrong too. She was like, “Respectfully decline, but. I’ll stick around here.” I think they were trying to keep going with her contrariness, but it just comes across as foolish pride? Constance is a LITTLE GIRL. She DESERVES a FAMILY. SHE DESERVES A LOVING PARENT (and two wonderful sisters). Yeah family doesn’t have to be by blood OR lawful paperwork, but her actions in this scene really just. cuts off the feels at the knees. We KNOW she’s strong and independent but that doesn’t mean she HAS TO BE or even necessarily WANTS to be all the time. Over the course of the series we see her warming up to people, a kind word here, a little smile there, but this adoption refusal is.. harsh. Then we’ve got Sticky. Yes, he struggles with the comfort of the whisperer. And he overcomes it. BUT in one of the earlier episodes, they had him fighting with the team, defending the whisperer, dismissing his friends... and I count this as betrayal. It may be extreme on my part, but I think he went too far. The Society is the Society. In the book he bested his fears for them and with their support. Yeah he desperately wanted to just give in but he had PRINCIPLES and knew why he couldn’t. His honor, his responsibility to stop curtain, and his loyalty to his friends got him though. But in the show he just dumped them. And then was like, oh oops jk I’m back. (I knowwwwww the book has the privilege of being able to explain characters’ thought processes and emotional states, while shows have to work with more tangible actions and words but stilll I did not Like That) And finally, curtain wasn’t smart. He had hired people doing all the work. He just used it to his ends. Less evil genius and more manipulating creep. But this? I’m more ok with. As an villain, he got the job done. But this makes him less of a foil for Mr Benedict and more of an antagonist, if that makes sense. In the book they never knew each other, but were both alone in the world and greatly smart, and they chose verrry different paths. Whereas in the show he and B were always kind of opposites, warring in motivation and method from the start.

Let’s talk about the boss battle (such as it was). I said it was weak and I meant it. The book is heart pounding. There is so much going on, and so many people in play, the narration jumping all over the place in real time, all culminating in that clash at the top of the tower. Now, the show... the highs weren’t the highs. It felt more like checking off story points. Kate and constance outside - check. Resist the whisperer to stall for time - check. Milligan reveal - check. Reynie starting to figure out narcolepsy triggers - check. Constance shouting then you are the greatest fool of all - um, no, that didn’t happen. Constance defeating the whisperer - check. Curtain escapes - check. We got zero action. No good fights. I know Emmy Deoliveira is a kid and I’m not mad at her for not being able to do action sequences or run with Constance piggyback. But there was almost no physical conflict on-screen, and that’s Kate’s real time to shine. Also they had Number two and Rhonda in the tower ready to fight and then they just didn’t. All this build up for nothing. Furthermore, and I think this is the biggest problem, there was no momentum. Yeah they cut from scene to scene, but the music and tone cut scene-to-scene too. So there was like, dramatic music, Kate’s ready to fight! Get hyped! and then cut to absolutely silent, mr curtain staring at someone. feel mildly disturbed. and then cut to Rhonda and Number two being friends and ready to fight! Aww! And yay! Get hyped! And then cut back to Sticky sitting in a chair, dead silent. It goes on like this. The music, the urgency, should have carried throughout, building in intensity and desperation as the kids come together and curtain unravels more and more and then BAM! curtain down and OH NO! the whisperer and finally Constance’s “I... DON”T.... CARE!!!” and then the madcap escape from the island. Watching, I just couldn’t get swept away. Storywise, they tied it all up and logically it made sense but the emotional culmination just wasn’t there. It was over and done too quick. It fell flat. I didn’t feel the struggle, the suspense. And then they gave us a fabricated Mr B and Curtain conversation that didn’t really help anything. And then the falling action had some nice moments but as I mentioned, the things with constance and sticky kind of made it feel less relieving, joyful, and sweet. I know a snowball fight is elaborate to set and film but I would have loved to see it.

Final thoughts I can’t help but love the kids. I’ll say it again, I sure liked this casting. And for all the changes they had to make, the original central plot was there, and most of the characters were recognizable even with all the alterations. So I did have problems with some of that underlying integrity, as well as the overall tone and execution, but I also laughed at the little funny things, jammed to the title theme, and was excited to see this, my favorite book in the world, get more recognition. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to adapt a work of prose into an audiovisual medium, and considering how outlandish the book sometimes got, they gave it their best shot. I didn’t love it but I can recognize the accomplishment. In terms of faithful and well-made adaptations, on a scale of Percy Jackson to Harry Potter, I’d give The Mysterious Benedict Society a 6.5/10.

[your-turn-to-role]

hi okay i hate sending asks to people without knowing them but you seem kind so im trying: during the break, i’ve been working my way through VM, and i’m at episode 75. my question, because i’ve read some of your more recent meta, is “what’s Percy’s deal?” i know he’s loved by the fandom, but i can’t find myself relating to him, and i find his assertions that he’s the only one with a plan offputting. is there more context you can give to me about percy’s character that explains his motivations?

aww, thank you!

(and yeah, asks like this are totally fine, i totally get that anxiety, good job on sending this!)

i mean, first off, you don't have to like a character everyone else does? if you don't relate to percy you can just, not relate to percy, that's fine

(and to be fair, as much as i love him as a character, i would not want him as a friend, because he's a very flawed person that has a lot to work on, but in fiction those traits are interesting to watch rather than difficult to deal with)

but, percy's deal! the short answer is people generally like him because taliesin's funny and charismatic and he does morally grey right, which is rare and a fun thing to explore (also in his relationships with other people, the entire vex-vax-percy-keyleth square is full of neat parallels and opposites and interesting things and i have whole essays in my head on all six combos there)

i don’t know which posts you’ve read so i’ll link this one here too, just to cover a couple more of the generally unnoticed aspects of his character, and things i like about percy

he’s also far from perfect, as you’ve noted, he does tend to believe he’s the smartest person in any given room, because he’s young and clever and used to being that, which you’re allowed to find off putting, but i will say i find he does that less than a lot of characters of his general archetype? he listens to pike, he listens to keyleth, he listens to vex, he respects when they have more knowledge than him on a particular subject, he’s not above asking for help. and generally most of the arguments he has with keyleth on that subject aren’t him asserting he knows more than her, but more a matter of principles and values (they’re a really interesting pair that way, they have similar backgrounds, both children of royalty running away from the crown, but they’re such opposites. percy is a natural leader who would rather anyone rule than him, keyleth fumbles her way through all of it but sticks to it because she doesn’t want to let anyone down, percy is a pragmatist, keyleth is an idealist, they both are too focused on the big picture but in two completely different ways, i could write a whole other post on this, but to get to my point, they wouldn’t be such good balances for each other if percy didn’t absolutely respect where keyleth is coming from)

for the long answer, i’m gonna break this down into parts and try to get to the core of percy's character and why he is the way he is

(under the cut bc this gets long)

1 - heavy trauma

like... this is the really really big one. percy, at age 17 or 18, had his entire life up to that point completely destroyed. his family was killed, his friends were killed, people he trusted like family (professor anders, who was a more present figure in percy's life than his actual parents) betrayed him and helped the briarwoods, he was imprisoned in his own castle's dungeons and tortured for information, they threw his siblings' bodies in there with him to make a point, cassandra helped him escape but as far as he knew she died helping him. he has two years of his life after that he straight up doesn't remember, his hair turned white from the stress of it. 

trying to go after ripley the first time didn't work, he was captured and left to starve in a prison cell, for the first few months of travelling with vox machina he genuinely believed it wasn't real, because realistically no one was gonna come save him, this was just a hallucination of his dying mind. returning to whitestone he was forced to confront the fact that literally everyone he ever knew growing up (with the sole exception of archibald) was either dead or working with the briarwoods, and even after retaking the city there's a lot that can never be repaired. 

and he's just... never really dealt with any of this? like, he gave vox machina the technical details of what happened to him in the briarwood arc, because they needed to know that information, but the first time he actually started processing his trauma, the first time he admits it out loud to anyone, is the final episode of campaign one. before then it had been occasional snide or handwavey comments, and like, he'll let himself feel the anger over it (in the beginning of the story he encouraged it, because then he didn't have to feel anything else), but he's never processed the grief, never admitted to himself how badly that affected him

which means he's got a lot of pent up emotions in there that he just keeps burying, and sometimes they come out in unhealthy ways. having so much taken from him also makes him really motivated to keep the things he does have - he’s got some deep set abandonment issues and takes any kind of betrayal really badly, don’t know if you’ve got up to the scanlan stuff by the time i post this, but that’s something to keep in mind as to why he acts the way he does there. (and it’s not more explicit because percy was raised nobility, keeping a brave face through anything is part of who he is, he tends to cover emotions he’s insecure about in snark or indifference or, for the intense ones, anger, because those are the things he thinks he’s allowed to show, but the real emotions show up occasionally, when they’re particularly strong, or if you’re reading between the lines. he really does care a lot about vox machina)

2 - legacy and loyalty. 

speaking of nobility, it's hard to do a character study on percy without mentioning whitestone and the house of de rolo. this is the number one thing to percy. he was raised to respect title and name, and most importantly, raised to respect the people he represents - both the townsfolk of whitestone and also percy's ancestors and future de rolo generations. whitestone is more important than any one life, he has a duty to protect and serve it, and that comes before any personal wants he may have. it's also important to him for family reasons - he was a pretty lonely child, but he loved reading about the history of the city, all the weird ghost stories whitestone had even before the briarwoods. it probably made him feel more connected to all of that, this is the place he belongs. and after his family dies, it becomes even more important, because this is his connection to them. the soul of a city lives as long as its people, by protecting what's left, he keeps a little bit of what came before

(and also in just tidbits to understand percy's character, he sees all cities and man-made things the same way - in a world where some races live for centuries or millennia, their history exists mostly by word of mouth, you can physically talk to people who were around 500 years ago and get their take on things - humans don't have that, they get 100 years at most, so the things they build are vital to their heritage. this is how you keep people alive long after they're gone, by honouring what they created. and especially for someone so concerned with legacy and history, percy literally says abandoning westruun would be blasphemy, because the place people grew up is important, yes it's better that they live, but letting the city be abandoned and destroyed would be an irreparable act of violence.) 

this is the number one thing on percy's mind when evaluating anything about himself, where do i come from, and what do i leave behind? which is a question that has a lot of moments to be tested, because of my next point...

3 - pragmatism and terrible thoughts

when it comes down to it, percy is a very ends justify the means kind of person. he finds it very easy to square away any kind of collateral damage as long as it gets him to his end goal. see: trial of the take, where he's fine to catch his friends in the blast radius of a new bomb design because he's so excited that it worked, preparing to fight vorugal and resigning himself to potentially having to kill innocent people to kill the dragon (he wasn’t okay with that, but he would do it), also his conscious decision to let ripley go, knowing she would lead to the deaths of thousands because it was her or the briarwoods and he wanted revenge 

(this is by his own admission his lowest point and worst mistake, because as mentioned, he thinks about the consequences of his actions near constantly, he knew she would reproduce his guns and they would lead to a whole new form of warfare. but in that moment he was just blinded by grief and way too emotionally burnt out and did not have the capacity to care. and he spends the rest of the campaign and honestly probably the rest of his life trying to make up for that one)

he's also, by his own admission, someone who has a lot of bad thoughts he doesn't act on, he's very clever and creative and ideas for ways to use those skills for violence or vengeance come easily to him (like, percy as an actual villain would be ripley but worse, ripley's intelligent but a very direct point a to point b kind of thinker, percy has multiple times criticised her lack of imagination, a percy with her lack of morals would be terrifying)

(honestly this is why i was seeing percy so much in taliesin's narrative telephone, because "sometimes i wake up having dreamed of a terrible thing, and normally i just file that away for things that i would never do, because i wanna maintain friendships, but then LIAM did something to me." and the whole being absolutely fine with throwing the rest of the cast under the bus just to enact revenge on liam was quintessential percy)

but we’ve seen the pragmatic anti hero everywhere, anyone can be a terrible person, and have reasons for it, that alone doesn’t make an interesting character (at least not for me)

what does, is my last point

4 - trying to be good

i still vividly remember when i first watched campaign one, being really surprised at how much percy asked for help? like, i went in expecting the usual full on demon possession storyline, i expected percy to hide how bad it was, i expected him to make poor decisions without realising he was doing it until he was in too deep to back out

and like, he had some of that. but at the first sign of things being out of his control, he asked his friends for help. he let pike greater restoration him. he told vax to kill him if things ever got too out of hand. he was really, genuinely scared about what he got himself into and what he might do because of it. there was never a point where he pretended, even to himself, that making a deal with orthax was okay. the minute he realised there was a demon involved, he was working to stop it. and yeah, by the time he realised it was already a bit too late, there were already some things out of his control (and also taliesin kept having the worst rolls against the whitestone corruption which was really fun on a meta level), which is how things got as bad as they did. but honestly, all things considered, there’s very little to criticise about the way percy handled himself in the briarwood arc. 

and he keeps doing that, trying to get better. he struggles with it, he struggles a lot, against his anger issues, against all the trauma, against the fact that he really doesn’t want to be here and things would be so much easier if he were dead. but he recognises he holds grudges too easily, so he starts actively trying to forgive those who’ve wronged him (this is something he and vex have in common, and something they were working on together before they were together, which probably helped a lot in getting them to that point as well). he recognises he makes poor decisions when he’s angry, so he starts learning to step back in those moments and leave the decisions to someone else. he has never not owned up to his mistakes, he takes responsibility for everything he’s done, and if he notices a problem he can’t solve himself, he asks for help.

and i find that fun to explore. like, percy’s been likened to hamlet in the actual show, and i was the kid who got super obsessed with hamlet when i was like 15 because i was in that same mental space of suicidal self hatred and existential melancholy but also thinking i was the smartest person in any given room and being too young to have gotten over the arrogance that makes you ignore everyone else’s needs for the sake of indulging your own problems. and then i got older and realised there are smarter ways to go about things, like having empathy and appreciating the light in the world and not being a dickhead to people because it makes you feel better, and maybe hamlet can be justified and in the wrong at the same time. and while there’s some stuff i won’t spoil for you, percy after ripley kills him is definitely starting to learn that, which you rarely see in the hamlet archetype, bc everyone’s like “ah yes so Deep so Important who cares what bad things this person did they had Trauma and are Clever”

well, percy cares about the bad things he did, and cares about not doing those anymore. so like, he’s still a disaster of a person bc he’s like 23 and no one has their life together at 23, especially not someone in percy’s situation, and honestly i find that fun to watch as well bc i like watching characters make stupid mistakes and do stuff i’d never approve of in real life, and as i mentioned at the start, taliesin makes captivating and funny characters. but yeah, that’s generally where percy’s at, most of the time

[siswritesyanderes]

Sorry I haven’t been posting; my stamina for writing has been kind of sporadic lately, and I’m really really sorry about that, so here’s just an idea dump of fun yandere concepts you can mull over that I haven’t yet written much of, on this blog:

Platonic yanderes. Depending on your interpretation, Luna was one of these in the Yandere Luna post. Also, I think I have two requests in my ask box with different variations of Harry being yandere for a friend!Reader, which I have not yet gotten to (again, sorry). But yeah, characters being yandere for their best friends is a lot of fun.

Characters with a more friendless past are super susceptible to this, so: Luna, Harry, maybe Hermione, if she was a nerdy loner in the Muggle world pre-Hogwarts. Neville even. Sirius and Remus both have reasons to become super attached to their friends.

Even characters who were never really loners could be good platonic yanderes; one of James’s principles is trusting his friends and loyalty and stuff, so he would be great. 

(Small spoiler for upcoming information in Quite Harmoniously, so skip this bullet point if you don’t want that, but the founders are a tiny bit yandere for each other, in addition to being romantically yandere for the reader.)

Familial yanderes. Similar to the platonic yandere thing, but basically this is for characters who are orphans or have similar familial tragedies, who might want to fill that hole with a living character. 

Yeah, Harry’s a gold mine for this. Add in that mention I made a few posts ago of how exploitable his Master of Death thing is, and we could have him bringing Sirius back from the dead, or Dumbledore, or literally just James and Lily. Or if he doesn’t bring anyone back from the dead...listen, every time Kingsley Shacklebolt says a word, Harry mentions how soothing his voice is. (I would say he could be yandere for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but in my mind he wants (a) parent(s) of his own, not Ron’s parents.)

This is completely crack, since they don’t interact much in canon, but it just popped into my head: Luna seeing McGonagall as a mother figure. Or Professor Sprout.

Tom being yandere for parental figures (ahem, I mean in a familial way this time) is an interesting idea. Him hating Dumbledore but also really, really wanting Dumbledore to say he’s proud of him would be a great dynamic. Instead of killing Dumbledore, maybe he leaves him alive as the only member of the Order of the Phoenix allowed to live, and has kind of We Need to Talk About Kevin vibes with him. Idk, there’s potential, is what I’m saying.

You know what? Let’s throw Teddy Lupin in there. Maybe he’s yandere for Harry. He’s raised by Andromeda (his grandmother); maybe she’s a little strict, and he’s young and likes it when his godfather comes to visit and spoils him rotten (because Harry’s handling of children would probably be pretty permissive early on, given his life with the Dursleys), and he doesn’t have parents, and the wizarding world is still pretty fresh off Harry’s victory, so we’re left with this orphan raised by a well-meaning but grieving and no-nonsense grandmother, and everyone he meets in the wizarding world just reinforces what a cool hero his super nice godfather is.

Seamus being yandere for Dean. I thought about putting this under “platonic yanderes”, but they could also just be gay, so I’m making it its own category. Gryffindor yanderes love to be heroes, and Dean has such a sad past, with his dad being dead and him being treated as a Muggle born and having to flee when Muggle Born Registration starts happening, that I could see Seamus wanting to protect him. 

Imagine the “Seamus doesn’t believe Harry” conflict from Order of the Phoenix, but with the added issue that Harry invites Dean to join the D.A. and Seamus doesn’t want Potter talking to Dean!

I already have plans to write the Weasley twins both being yandere for Angelina. Honestly, it could be them and Lee Jordan, since all three of them express interest in her. She has a pretty take-charge personality, so I’m thinking, once their yandere traits start to manifest, either they’d better keep it thoroughly under wraps so she knows nothing about it, or she would keep them in check. She wouldn’t tell them to stop completely, but she would give them rules.

On the Percy Jackson side of things, I love the idea of mutually yandere Valdangelo. (Or Nico and Leo separately, but I started liking Valdangelo before Will Solace became such an entity, so you’ll have to excuse me, lol.)

Leo would be similar to the Weasley twins, in terms of being a self aware and fun yandere. Except instead of having a happy past, he’s full on Stepford Smiler patching over his trauma one joke at a time, so the desperation to be loved is higher. Also he’s a firebender.

Nico would be so protective. Like, SO protective. Also possessive. (Ooh, familial yandere? Nico and Hazel?) He can raise armies of the dead, shadow travel anywhere, and literally will someone to die? 

(Again, I haven’t read past book one of Trials of Apollo yet, so please do not update me on anything I’m missing in that regard.)

Boy, this ended up being so long. But yeah, take this as my apology for taking so long to update anything!

[tlblah]

Ok so pausing the reread (I’m at the part where Percy just got his prophecy) but like so I’ve been in this fandom forever. I kind of leave when there’s huge discord. (I’ve grown up with a lot of different fandoms and it gets to be intense so I don’t really interact) and I know we’re at the point where we are separating the content from the author while also acknowledging the failures that come from said authors (like Riordan sticking to stereotypes instead of writing characters who deal and break those stereotypes, the current fandom discussion) but my question when I started reread is specifically about the Big Three.

Like I understand that as we read this book we are naturally made to think that Poseidon is the best of the three bc he actually seems to acknowledge Percy and in his own way be a good father to him. But I started to think about the pact that was brought up and it’s origins.

Its stated that WW2 was Zeus and Poseidon against Hades and obviously we’re supposed to infer that Hades was Germany and Zeus and Poseidon are England and the US or whatever “good” nations you want to pick. But what my brain caught on was that my views on said gods are different at the moment.

Zeus is supposed to be the ruler right, but he acts like a little bitch, cheats on his wife, is always suspicious of people and in general doesn’t sound like a great leader. As an American I can’t help but confer him with our current dumpster fire of a president and government. Also Zeus is the truest fuck boy of them all. So I can’t really see him as this paragon that he’s supposed to be. I see him as this fraud.

Hades, on the other hand, is supposed to be bad, he’s intended to be this baleful brother jealous of his siblings and the lot he was given. But of course over the years we’ve all basically decided Hades is the soft one compared to his queen of a wife Persephone and as a whole have seen him not as this figure if evil but of a different realm. People are scared of darkness bc they don’t know it and don’t understand it but it doesn’t mean it’s evil. Hades has just been shaped differently bc his lot and people who don’t understand that realm judge him without learning.

(Poseidon is just Poseidon bc Riordan keeps him as this perfect figure who would be an amazing father if only he wasn’t a god. Which I mean false but I haven’t been able to wrangle him as much as I’ve been thinking about Zeus and Hades so we’ll come back to him later)

So I guess what I’m realizing is that distance and growth changes how you see figure heads and events. Bc as I read about the pact and WW2 through the books premise I couldn’t help challenge my initial reading as a 13 year old in like maybe 2007. When I read it Zeus and Poseidon were on the “good” side of the war, and Hades was obviously meant to be Germany, the evil side. But now as a 26 year old in 2020, my brain wanted to flip that and put Zeus on the bad side.

WW2 was hell. Millions of Jewish people were killed in an atrocious genocide. But from where I’m standing now Zeus represents the worst of the beaucrats, who only care about money and power. And part of me sides with Hades, the one person who has to take in all of the dead, these lost and extinguished souls and I think his children would have rose up and fought to end the needless killings. They would have gone up against Zeus and Poseidon to keep them from extending their power over people and trying to shape the world to their “perfect image”.

I.e my brain wanted to flip and put hades as the good countries and Zeus as Germany.

Maybe that just because of how I’m feeling in this current pandemic. When the government had gone to crap and precious lives are being lost for no good reason and I can’t seem to make Hades the bad guy but I can say fuck you to Zeus bc he just feels like he’s be the one that the corrupt men in power would pray to. Because the people who would look to Zeus and see someone powerful would be the ones currently trying to save not live but the economy. While I currently look at Zeus as a failure of politicians and the beginning of greed and fuckboy-erie, I don’t look to Hades in the negative ways that is implied at the beginning of the book.

I mean I never looked to Hades as an evil god, at least once we got to further learn the character as well as see him through the eyes of Nico as well. I guess I’m currently looking at him from our current perspective. We never had to really worry and pay attention to the government just as Hades did living in the underworld. But now that the fuckery that is the earth is reaching into our daily lives and personally affecting us, (people not wearing masks, rights being taken away, ACAB) we can not stay quiet and apart from the world. Hades has to make his presence and his power known because he is god of the underworld and he won’t stand by while people who were not scheduled to die flood his kingdom as a result of Zeus’s idiot followers

I mean obviously the Greek gods aren’t real. They’re an amalgamation of ideas and principles but it’s still interesting to realize that we are at a turning point in time. And in turn a turning point of how I am reading these gods. I am rethink many aspects of this series that I just accepted as a child and debate the ideas and principles that were completely different over a decade ago.

It feels weird to even think that we are living through the fall of Rome but it truly feels that way

*edit*

I thought about Poseidon’s possible current role and he is either siding with Zeus and basically the republicans who are just going along bc they think they’ll benefit. I’m not exactly sold on this idea. The larger part of me wants to cast possiden as the countries that have a hold on the covid pandemic and look at the US like we’re Florida. Which means they’d side with Hades which makes more sense bc Poseidon has always been the one to challenge Zeus and if Zeus won’t listen pull him off the throne. Ok I’m calling it rn is Hades and Poseidon vs Zeus and I actually like that idea of Poseidon. He’s the oceans, the one thing that covers the earth and connects it all. He wouldnt represent countries turning inwards and abandoning the rest of the world. The ocean is open waters and free if borders. It’s perfect representation of this day an age. Ugh tell me I haven’t been biased into thinking Poseidon is better than the rest. No you know what Hades and Poseidon are equals. It’s only Zeus who thinks he’s better than anyone.

[saintsenara]

I love your Subluxation fic. I am obsessed. The writing style is beautiful. I was wondering what inspired you to write a Percy centric fic. And also if you have read A Study of Resonance? Is there any Percy centric fics that you would recommend?

honestly, anon? probably having an irrepressible sense of mischief.

the plot bunny which is now subluxation emerged from a prompt for the @hprarepairfest last summer, which asked for rodolphus coming and going from the ministry during the year voldemort was in charge and becoming captivated by percy and which i thought sounded a hoot.

i couldn’t make it work for the fest because of real life, but i thought the idea was so compelling i couldn’t leave it alone…

neither percy nor rodolphus were characters i particularly cared about prior to starting to write it [which is a particular flop for rodolphus, given how much bellamort i write…], but i’ve always been interested - both in my reading and my writing - in things which delve into the structure of the wizarding world and its institutions, and the weird, neoliberal politics of the series. i like fics which get into the entrenched corruption of the wizarding state - and how this endures under the shacklebolt ministry - and how dumbledore and the order are canonically fighting to preserve that status quo, and how voldemort works really well as a populist figurehead, and how the canon text’s idea that everything is fine once voldemort is out of the way is milquetoast bullshit.

and i also - unsurprisingly, given everything i’ve ever said on this app - really like stuff which gets into the idea that horrible people are not black-and-white caricatures, and can, in certain circumstances, be really lovely. and - of course - anything which explores the fact that love is strange and unpredictable.

so the prompt ticked all the boxes, tbh - with the added bonus that it also allowed me to stick to a principle i think it’s sincerely important to hold in fandom: that everyone should write outside their comfort zone [whether that’s characters, characterisation, ships, tropes, etc.] once in a while, and that the only real way to improve as an author is to do this.

when it comes to other fics, i've not read a study of resonance, which is probably my biggest omission from the percy-verse. i like the following:

the bureaucrats and the argument both by floreatcastellum

hope is a thing with feathers by peachykeener

sink or swim by ziskandra

the last something that meant anything by anonymous

all of these are considerably more sympathetic to percy than subluxation is, but i think the character work within them is really lovely.

[anidorikiladrataliannaisilee]

tag game

I was tagged by @thescorpioracer to answer ten questions and then write ten more!

1) What’s a hobby you’d like to pursue more?

Hmm this isn’t much of a hobby but I got out of the habit of listening to The Magnus Archives and I’d like to get back into it! I’d also like to actually follow through with learning new languages/improving at Spanish and Hebrew.

2) Favorite dish that a parent or relative makes? 

Ok this sounds lame BUT my dad has been making bruschetta lately and it is. so good. Mostly it’s just miles better than the half-assed tomato toast I was making before I moved back home and I love it very much

3) What is something popular that everyone seems to like but you don’t?

 Oooh. Reality tv maybe?? I just absolutely can’t get myself to care about it, although I’ve tried a few times. I watched a couple episodes of Love is Blind and Tiger King but never finished either. What can I say, I like plots!! Also, Game of Thrones, which I avoided on principle until my parents started watching it, and now I avoid it because I genuinely don’t enjoy it.

4) If you could suddenly just be fluent in a languages you don’t already speak, which would it be? 

See I kind of want to say something really difficult, like Russian or Mandarin, even though they’re not the languages I most want to know? Only because I feel like it would be kind of a waste to use this on something like Dutch or German or Italian. I guess I’ll choose Mandarin.

5) A small goal you’d like to accomplish in the next few years? 

This question made me realize I don’t have any small goals. Alas. I’m not a very ambitious person. Would love to think of myself as a good person again though!!

6) Right now, would you rather spend a day at the beach or in the mountains?

The mountains for sure because my entire life has been very beach-adjacent and I’m mildly sick of it. 

7) Favorite kind of weather? 

I’m way too indecisive to answer questions like this. However, when I was little, I hated when it was sunny and raining at the same time, and now I love it. I think I hated it because it made me Feel Things and tbh I don’t think I grew a heart capable of having feelings until I was like seventeen.

8) Is there a different name you wish you had?

Not really, I like Emily. But my parents were considering naming me Charlotte and I do think that it would have suited me well.

9) Favorite kind of jewelry or accessory? 

Piercings! I want to get my nose pierced and maybe my eyebrow if I work up the nerve. I already have more than a few in each ear and I Love Them.

10) Is there a book you like that had a really bad adaptation?

I mean. I feel like Percy Jackson is the obvious answer. To be honest, though, I’m usually pretty willing to divorce an adaptation from its source material, and that means I still enjoy some bad adaptations. I really liked the Percy Jackson movie when I was little! I just thought of it as something else entirely. It’s the same with Howl’s Moving Castle; I love the book and the movie but they’re pretty separate in my head. (But I’m thrilled that Percy Jackson is getting the adaptation it deserves<3) 

New questions:

1. What’s the last book that surprised you?

2. What media from your childhood influenced you the most?

3. Favorite beverage?

4. What’s something you love but aren’t good at?

5. What’s something you’re good at but don’t love?

6. Describe your ideal personal aesthetic in some detail. (yes this question is very 2016 no I do not care)

7. Is forgiving people easy for you?

8. What’s your favorite kind of puzzle or game?

9. Do you care about birthdays?

10. What’s your favorite tumblr trend of the last year or two?

I’m tagging the last few people in my activity ( @livvyluna @jennyholzertattoo @anabelsbrother @cunumicita @bakctodecember @arianwen and whoever wants to do it) to answer the questions I wrote and then write ten more for the people they tag <3

[halothenthehorns]

GRIM DEFEAT

"Okay," James said, drawing the word far out past its normal syllable count as he glanced carefully between the book and his best friend. "At least now we know Sirius really is at Hogwarts," he finished with a mutter.

"Er, Sirius," Remus said cautiously when the silence just kept dragging on and they just kept staring at him like he would have a completely normal explanation for this. "No offense mate, but I'm honestly wondering if you hadn't really lost your mind on that one."

Sirius was mouthing wordlessly, his eyes so round his friends were wondering if they weren't just going to completely fall out of his head.

"Don't suppose it just has something to do with his low impulse control?" Lily offered weakly. "He finally made his way there and was just that eager to see Harry?"

"If he wanted to get in that badly though, he would have just broken into a home in Hogsmeade and floo'd into the common room," Remus corrected. *

"With a knife?" Harry reminded. Harry couldn't help but shift his weight around uncomfortably as he continued eyeing Sirius. Remus might have meant it as a joke, but Harry really was starting to have this feeling like there was some darker, unknown reason Sirius was trying to get into Gryffindor tower... but what? It had to be because of him, what other motive would he have for going in there? But something just didn't feel right, and as always his mind was unhelpful as ever in giving him a reason why.

The others were trying, their minds spinning in every direction possible for this to seem logical, for any kind of motive that didn't make their skin crawl, but they were all coming up with a blank on this one. At least four of them were, Sirius looked like he'd completely shut down and wasn't going to be processing anything anytime soon.

"If he wanted to get in that badly though, he would have just broken into a home in Hogsmeade and floo'd into the common room," Remus corrected. 

James got uneasily to his feet and walked over to pick up the book, checking his chapter before walking back over and smacking Sirius with it.

"Ouch!" Sirius yelped in shock, rubbing at the spot on his arm, and coming out of whatever trance he'd clearly been in. "What was that for?"

"Felt like someone should for that stupid stunt," James said with an air of carelessness, while he was still keeping a very protective eye on his friend, "got any ideas why you did?"

Sirius shook his head miserably from side to side, sighing deeply before saying, "I don't know, maybe Lily's got something in saying I was just really impatient to see Harry, and I had the knife for protection? I've obviously not got my wand anymore."

"See, I don't know about that," Remus argued back with a frown in place. "It would have been much easier to set up something with me, then we could both talk to Harry at the same time. Even you're not so mad as to think this was a good idea Padfoot."

"Maybe now I'm not," Sirius grumbled, eyeing the ceiling carefully and not looking at anyone.

James and Remus exchanged heartbroken looks, while to be perfectly honest Lily couldn't really come up with a way to argue that point.

Then James grit his teeth in frustration, and made to swing at Sirius again. This time he was paying attention enough to duck, then glared daggers at his best friend. "Why do you keep trying to hit me?"

"Because you're being an idiot," James snapped, and Sirius felt like leaning back at the fiery glare he was now receiving. "I don't want anyone to ever say that again, least of all you. I'm positive you must have a reason for this, and you will get your chance to talk to Harry by the end of the year and explain it." With that he turned to his chapter and began reading; not leaving any room for argument. Remus looked happy that the subject was being changed, agreeing with James all the way, but Harry and Lily exchanged uneasy looks.

Lily couldn't help but wonder if her husband wasn't in denial about this matter. Something wasn't adding up with this, and though neither of them had an idea of what, they were both thinking it might have a little more to do with something other than Harry. Lily just couldn't help but think that, unless Azkaban really had driven Sirius mad, what other explanation could it be?

Dumbledore personally escorted the whole of the house back down to the Great Hall, and moments later the other houses arrived as well in a swell of confusion. Dumbledore instructed all of them that it was safer to be kept in here for the night,

"Interesting little slumber party," Remus muttered, still keeping a worried eye on Sirius. James' words hadn't seemed to be much comfort to him, and he was still rubbing absentmindedly on where he had now been whacked twice, and looked as if he was only half paying attention.

and to remain as quiet as possible, while the Head Boy and Girl were in charge. Percy couldn't help but swell with power as he glanced around the room at that news.

"Course he was," Harry rolled his eyes, now continuously throwing worried glances over at Sirius, they had all noticed he didn't seem to have as much confidence as James did.

Then Dumbledore summoned enough sleeping bags for all of them,

"Glad he remembers the little things," Lily chuckled without any real humor.

"Where did they all come from?" Harry yelped in shock, his mind boggling at the idea of summoning so many things at once.

"I'm fairly confident they keep a private store of those somewhere in the castle," Remus explained, "for emergencies like this."

Harry still found this a pretty big feat, but didn't say anymore.

and left. Percy jumped in at once, telling them all to get to sleep, he was turning the lights out in a minute.

"He is such a killjoy," James smirked, trying his very best to put a sense of normalcy back into his tone that no one actually bought.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione grabbed up their own bags and pulled them into a corner so they could talk in peace, while Hermione asked if Black was still in the castle.

"Absolutely not," Remus said at once, punctuating that with a roll of his eyes to show how ridiculous he thought that was.

Ron pointed out Dumbledore thought so, and Hermione whispered it was good fortune he'd picked tonight to pull that stunt,

James suddenly brightened all the more, a real smile coming across his face as he began laughing.

"I don't see why that's funny," Lily scowled at him, wondering if James wasn't joining Sirius in a spot of madness now.

"I was just thinking that Hermione might be wrong on that one," James disagreed, "and that Sirius was trying to get a bit of irony owed to him on this particular night. All that rubbish-" no one needed to ask why he couldn't actually say the words 'we died' and had instead deflected to that, "on Halloween, so Sirius wanted to make an impression."

Lily's eyes might have brightened with understanding, but she didn't look any more convinced.

Remus was shaking his head from side to side, not looking any more convinced but a little more indulgent as he replied, "think that's giving him a little too much credit mate. Can't imagine Sirius thinking in that kind of poeticness."

"Hello, I am sitting right here," Sirius sniffed, allowing a genuine smile to appear as he was easily able to focus on this simple thing, his friends picking on him. The others were relieved to see him get some sense of normalcy back about him, which made James feel all the worse when he realized no one was going to comment further and he had to simply turn right back to this.

the holiday where everyone was out of Gryffindor common room.

"Perfect time to try and sneak in and wait out for Harry to be alone," Remus reminded Sirius quietly. Sure that plan had some major holes, like he obviously hadn't snooped out and found the password for one; but Sirius could turn into a dog and hide under the bed for just this opportunity. No it wasn't ideal, it would make more sense for him and Sirius to work out something far better...but perhaps Sirius had grown impatient and gone ahead without him? It wouldn't be the first time Sirius had disregarded his advice on something because he was so impatient, though he would have liked to think on something like this he could have gotten through his friends thick skull... Remus sighed when he realized he just kept creating more questions rather than a solution.

Ron pointed out the man was on the run, he probably wasn't keeping track of the days of the week, otherwise he'd have just come right into the hall.

Sirius grumbled something about he still didn't think he was that deranged, but quietly enough he didn't think either of his friends really understood what he meant.

Then Hermione whispered, how did he get in?

"That's something I am still genuinely curious about," Lily said briskly, trying to keep her suspicions about Sirius' mind state out of her voice. She wasn't sure how good a job she did, since James kind of gave her a dirty look anyways, but Sirius distracted them by saying, "I've still got no idea. I really have been thinking about that, and all I can come up with is that I must learn something new within the next year."

"That isn't public knowledge, and that Dumbledore doesn't know and has proofed against, and the rest of the wizarding world hasn't figured out?" Remus asked in disbelief.

They were all genuinely puzzled, only one thing coming to mind in that Sirius was an animagus. That qualified under all of those questions, but what did that have to do with getting past dementors? Sirius did know all of the secret entrances in and out of the school, so if he did waltz right past the guards as a dog and use one of those, was it doable? That didn't answer one of their original questions, of why he hadn't simply done this moments after he'd been taken to Azkaban, why wait all this time? Of course, as far as any of them knew, this hadn't ever been studied; did dementors have an effect on animals? Was it the same basic principle as werewolf bites didn't affect an animal, just humans?

Harry was nearly bouncing in his seat when James voiced all of this, which meant they must be on the right track, he didn't normally show this much excitement when they weren't. By the time they had circled through every bit of possibilities on this subject, they were all practically beaming at having figured out something even this minor. It certainly made them all feel better than the other tons of questions they had about the situation that just kept getting worse.

Others all around the hall were asking this very question, one Ravenclaw kid suggested he might know how to apparate onto the grounds.

"Of course I do, most any adult wizard does," Sirius rolled his eyes. Even finding out something as minor as how he had gotten himself past the dementors finally seemed to have lifted Sirius' mood tenfold, bringing back his more boisterous and rather pompous nature.

He looked to be in such a good mood again, no one bothered to point out to him he most likely didn't have a wand, and the obvious part where he can't apparate inside the actual school; since Sirius knew both of these anyways and was just answering the rhetorical question.

A Hufflepuff postured that Black had disguised himself.

"Actually not that far off," James smirked, now feeling like rubbing it in Lily's face that they most likely hadn't registered and this was how Sirius was getting around. After all, if they had, then surely they would have put out an alert on Sirius' dog form as well as his human picture.

Lily properly acknowledged his smug tone by sticking her tongue at him, having come to much the same conclusions.

While Dean offered that he could have flown in.

"And we've already explained why that wouldn't work," Remus shrugged, "not only that, but dementors could sense him even if I did invite him on the premises, so that wouldn't work all the more."

Hermione scoffed at all of these, asking if she was the only one to have read Hogwarts, A History?

"Only one who's memorized it," James smirked.

Ron told her she was, and Hermione explained why each of those wouldn't work, and she'd love to see the disguise that fooled dementors.

"Well I very much hope it impresses you," Sirius smirked.

Reminding them they were at every entrance, and Filch knew all of the secret passages into the school.

"I doubt he actually knows all of them," James scoffed, "otherwise they'd be boarded up and blocked off from all students."

Lily couldn't help but wonder if perhaps they were. Harry certainly hadn't found any out of the school, but perhaps her son wasn't the best way to argue that point. The one thing she could say for her son was that he really didn't go out of his way to find trouble like that, unlike his father on that one.

Then Percy called that it was time they all get to bed, not to talk anymore.

"Please," Remus scoffed, "as if anyone could sleep with this kind of news going around." If he didn't think it would inflate his friends ego another few degrees, he might have even pointed out just how much of an accomplishment this really was, sneaking into Hogwarts in this manner. Side effects and actual reasons for him doing this aside.

The lights did go out, and then the most dominant noise was the ghosts flitting in having serious conversations with the prefects.

"Not as Siriusly as I could have," Sirius said quickly, taking the absent minded nudge he received from James with a happy grin this time. He was going to soak in this pleasurable mood for as long as he could, knowing by now he shouldn't count on it to last long this time.

Between that and the ceiling above that mimicked the stars outside, Harry found himself wondering if this was what camping was like.

"That sounds like fun honestly," Lily grinned, "I think we really should go camping some time."

"I'll keep that in mind," James acknowledged.

Harry looked horrified at the thought. He had no idea why his mother's innocent suggestion would give him a whomping smack, his first instinct to say he wanted nothing of the sort, but something about him, Hermione, Ron, and the word camping wasn't being taken lightly inside of him. He didn't say any of this though, because as always it came with that nuisance of a feeling that it came with memories he had no business prying into so early.

Teachers periodically poked their head in to check on them, and by the time most of the students had nodded off, Dumbledore himself came.

Despite the confidence James had that Sirius really wouldn't have stuck around and gotten back out of there, he also couldn't help the slight relief he felt at the headmaster's reappearance. Surely if Sirius had been caught, Dumbledore wouldn't have come back, but would be tied up for hours dealing with the ministry and what have you because of it.

Harry feigned sleep as the headmaster approached Percy, who was nearby telling off some kids for talking.

"I think he just needs to keep his girlfriend at his hip, see that 'lighter side of him' we still haven't seen," Remus muttered into Sirius' ear, making Sirius begin snickering again.

Ron and Hermione quickly pretended to be nodding off as well when Dumbledore approached.

"Convenient," Lily rolled her eyes, though to be honest this time she really thought that might have just been a lucky break. Of all the students scattered in the great hall, there was no way they could have possibly noticed those three in particular when they were talking. Even then, it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that Percy would be cycling near his brother.

Percy asked if Black had been caught, and Dumbledore said no.

This time the other four couldn't help but joining James in the relief at this confirmation Sirius really hadn't been recaptured.

Then he said he'd found another painting to be put in front of the Gryffindor tower.

Sirius grimaced and pushed his hand through his hair in frustration, truly bothered he had clearly hurt the Fat Lady's painting so much it couldn't just be mended quickly, but James distracted him easily enough by asking, "Wonder who they got to do the job?"

There were several memorable portraits some of them suggested, Harry's favorite being Remus who offered they might have even used one of the old Headmaster's ones from Dumbledore's office, but then James really did have to keep reading to get his answer.

Percy asked about the Fat Lady, and Dumbledore explained she was hiding out, still afraid because she'd denied Black entrance when he didn't know the password and he'd lashed out.

Sirius couldn't help but bite at his lip, torn between anger at himself for this act, and confusion as to why he seemed so desperate to get in as really; seeing Harry shouldn't have caused this much of a forceful reaction. Yes, he'd be going crazy wanting to see his Godson, but then he grimaced at his mind's choice of words as he was once again very forcefully questioning himself if he truly had gone...well crazy.

Remus and James weren't having it, refusing to let him dwell on this, so Remus offered him back the baby who Sirius took happily, and James made the comment, "I think she owes you a thanks to be honest. How often does she get to travel the castle like this?"

Harry released a surprised snort of laughter at that, only Lily still look perturbed as her thoughts had been paralleling Sirius' and she didn't seem able to shake it off quite as easily. While no she didn't really think he'd do Harry harm, it still was distressing to even consider what had become of Sirius, and not thinking about it wasn't going to make it any easier if she happened to be right. Then she sighed as she focused back in on James, also recognizing dwelling on it wasn't going to make the problem better either.

Then more footsteps announced the arrival of Snape.

"Oh great, just bloody perfect, I really wanted him to come around and get his opinion on the matter. Would have kept me dwelling all day if we didn't hear his stupid-" Sirius cut himself off by blowing a loud raspberry in baby Harry's face, causing great peals of laughter from all of them at that sudden random act.

Dumbledore asked for his report, and Snape said that the whole of the castle had been searched with no trace, and Dumbledore agreed he hadn't really expected Black to stick around.

"See, even Dumbledore still has that kind of faith in you," James smirked.

Then Snape asked if Dumbledore had an idea how Black got in, and Dumbledore admitted he had several, though none of them fit.

"Would honestly kind of like to hear that," Remus chuckled.

Sirius didn't seem to find that quite so funny, having come to the sudden realization that even Dumbledore probably thought he'd committed that terrible crime, and finding it quite depressing his old headmaster thought that of him. McGonagall would as well, Merlin anyone he once knew would think the worst of him now... except Remus of course. He sighed, refusing to allow his mind to linger on this depressing realization, taking a comfort in that one small fact his friend still would have stood by him, no matter how little influence he could have offered because of his status.

Harry cracked an eye open to see Snape, his profile making it clear how angry he was.

"He would be upset you obviously got the better of everyone in that castle," James cackled.

Snape then tried to remind Dumbledore of a warning he'd given before, now trying to put himself between Percy and Dumbledore, clearly trying to butt him out of the conversation.

"Well then you should have had this out of earshot, like oh I don't know, in one of your offices," Lily rolled her eyes.

Dumbledore agreed with a sharp tone, a clear warning not to keep going.

"Hope he does, as I'd really like to hear this," Sirius said honestly, taking any pleasure in this old bat getting told off.

Snape didn't take that warning, continuing that Black may have gotten help from the school, Snape hadn't been very pleased with the newest appointment,

"I see what he's on about," James rolled his eyes.

"While he's most likely not wrong-" Remus shrugged, but Sirius finished for him, "like I need anyone's help."

Dumbledore cut him off that he did not think for one second a teacher would help Black.

"Huh," the others muttered, Dumbledore phrasing it this way actually managed to spring a few questions to mind. Was Dumbledore implying he didn't think Remus would help him, in which case Remus would have had to lie and fool the headmaster about this; or did Dumbledore possibly know something? That Sirius was innocent every person in this room still believed, could it be possible Dumbledore still believed it too, and hadn't been able to do anything about it during the trial, and was now trying to possibly help out Sirius himself.

Harry in particular didn't really think that, and it also turned his mind into an even darker train of thought, could he be saying that because Dumbledore really thought Remus wouldn't help Sirius? Why though, what could make the headmaster think this? Harry was getting a very sticky feeling deep inside him, that emptiness was rearing its ugly head when his mind was trying to disagree with his gut on this matter.

James couldn't help but hesitate before he kept reading this time, torn between wanting to question this further, and afraid of what answers might crop up. After exchanging a look with Remus, and the silence continued to drag on from the others, he decided to leave that one be for a time.

Then Dumbledore excused himself, saying he had to go and check on the dementors. Percy asked why they hadn't helped search the castle, and Dumbledore stated that so long as he was running this school, no dementor would come through those doors.

"Thank Merlin for that," Lily said in relief. Harry ignored his odd little tick in the brain trying to say that would be a lie someday as well.

Harry looked over to see Ron and Hermione looking just as confused as him.

Sirius couldn't help a surprised snort of laughter, he honestly kept forgetting these kids in the book weren't privy to the knowledge they were half the time. It was more than obvious to them, but of course even Harry wouldn't have known at the time Remus was obviously who they meant. Then that humor dried up slightly, just a tad of resentment taking its place as he remembered all over again Harry really should have known that.

Black was in every conversation for the next several days.

Sirius couldn't help but grimace at that, having always enjoyed attention in his youth, and finding that mirrored back now the worst form of mockery.

Everyone was speculating to no end how he could have pulled off this latest stunt, Hannah suggesting that he turned himself into a bush.

"I threatened to turn you into a dandelion one time," Lily remembered fondly.

That gave them all a soft moment of amusement again, Harry in particular as he asked, "and why was that?"

"I caught him flirting with one of my friends, the day after he'd broken up with another girl," Lily shrugged, "told him to get lost or I'd turn him from a hound dog to a dandelion. Seemed cleverer at the time than it does now."

"I took the threat for what it was though," Sirius shrugged, not looking any kind of abashed at this little retelling, "wouldn't have been the first time Lily'd cursed me for much less."

The Fat Lady had been replaced with Sir Cadogan,

"Wow," Remus chuckled in amusement, "didn't see that one coming."

"This ought to be fun to watch," James agreed mildly.

Harry rolled his eyes, already getting a faint feeling of more agitation then humor, but didn't argue the point.

which didn't please anybody as he randomly changed the password twice a day into the most random things possible.

"Can he do that?" Lily frowned, "thought only McGonagall could do that."

"Probably gave him permission, after my little stunt," Sirius reminded her, with just a touch of bitterness complimenting that.

Seamus could be heard complaining to Percy about it, but Percy pointed out he couldn't do anything about it, as Cadogan had been the only one willing to do the job.

"Brave or suicidal," Sirius piped up again, and when Remus made to smack him again for that dark humor, Sirius quickly reminded, "thought I was allowed to make jokes about that."

Remus sneered at him, still not finding that the least bit funny, but Merlin if it made him feel better who was he to argue?

Harry couldn't care less about this though, as he had his own problem. He was now being followed,

"Oh crap," James groaned, planting his face in the pages for a moment to collect himself at this amount of absurdity all over again. He still found it laughable at best of anyone thinking Sirius could do Harry real harm, but he obviously couldn't convince anyone of that in this future, and it was pointless to grumble on the matter now when Sirius was trying too hard not to let himself stay down on this matter, so he blasted through this part as fast as he could.

by teachers who found any reason to walk with him to his next class, and worst of all Percy, who Harry got the suspicion was acting on orders from his own mother, kept an eye on him like some guard dog.

"Can't deny I adore the description anyway," Sirius huffed to himself.

Remus rolled his eyes, not finding it any more amusing his using the dog jokes then his own name, and dearly wishing he hadn't given up the baby now so that he had more a reason to swing at him.

McGonagall turned out to be worst of all, as she called Harry to her office one day with the demeanour akin to someone dying.

"Only person that could refer to is the Dursleys," Harry offered, trying his own attempt at humor, "then I can't imagine I'd be too sorry."

That did give them all a chance to give a laugh, albeit a dark one as they half wished that were true anyways.

She began to explain that she couldn't hide it from him anymore in a serious tone,

Sirius opened his mouth to say that same joke again, but Remus took the opportunity to poke him in the jaw, smirking as he scolded, "not twice in the same chapter, please save my sanity from that."

Sirius rolled his eyes at him, telling his friend now he was being a killjoy, and James took that distraction to read out the ridiculous sentence

that Black was supposedly after Harry. Harry said he knew this, he'd heard about it over the summer from Mr. Weasley.

"Oh yeah, you could just hear the surprise in Harry," Lily rolled her eyes, wanting to laugh all over again as even she wouldn't have openly admitted to eavesdropping like Harry had done twice now.

While shocked, McGonagall said that he should then understand full well why he was being taken off the Quidditch team.

"She what!" James cried in outrage, now matching the expression that someone had just told him someone had been killed.

"Couldn't they just ask someone to oversee the practice if they're that worried," Remus scowled, knowing he'd personally volunteer in a heartbeat.

"She can't do that," Sirius spluttered in disgust. "What the bloody hell do they think I'm going to do, get onto the pitch and chuck that knife at him?"

"Well, yes it seems," Lily frowned over at him when James and Remus scowled at him for that stupid comment.

Sirius matched her expression, but James refused to let them really start arguing and began reading again swiftly, dearly wishing Harry would do something to make her see sense!

Explaining practices just left him to vulnerable. Harry tried to protests, saying he had a game coming up this weekend, he had to train!

"Well, she isn't actually kicking him off the team," Remus said slowly, frown still in place, but this wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. "I guess it wouldn't be too bad if you just couldn't practice with the team, but could still play in the games."

"I'd still go crazy," Harry disagreed, "Quidditch was the best stress relief I had, no way do I want that taken away."

McGonagall did consider, and Harry held out hope since he knew his head of house was as much a fan of her team as anyone, so she did bargain that Harry could keep at it so long as Madam Hooch was there at all times.

"Thank you," all the boys breathed in relief. Lily rolled her eyes, she personally wouldn't have felt too bad if Harry hadn't been able to play anymore since the moment he'd started he'd yet to be able to go one game without her heart wanting to leap out of its chest, but she wasn't going to begrudge Harry this getaway either.

While the weather seemed determined to rain on them until they drowned, this had never affected the Gryffindor's practices, now overseen by Madam Hooch.

"Bollocks," Sirius scowled when he realized this was most likely going to be the chapter that held said match.

James gave him a pitying look, but before he could even open his mouth to offer Sirius turned his attention resolutely back to the baby, silently answering before he could offer. Sirius would keep his word, he'd wait until Harry's final year to openly demand his due Quidditch match, but it certainly was frustrating this just kept skipping over him.

James considered for a moment still asking, Sirius might have silently answered but he'd been dealing with so much lately he might have forced him to read it just to put a real smile back in place, but then Remus subtly shook his head and pointed out the now dozing child. If James traded now, baby Harry would fully wake up again, and they may as well give the kid his nap while he could.

The father shrugged and decided to go on. Harry watched all of this with high interest, greatly enjoying the silent conversation that had just taken place, and feeling a depressing realization all over again when he recognized he'd never truly see this in his own time.

It wasn't until the training run before the game that Wood delivered the worst news, that they were going to be playing Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin.

"Those crappy little tarts," James said at once.

"Is Malfoy still faking that injury," Remus rolled his eyes.

"Sadly yes," Harry sighed, that remembered issue making its reappearance. "How come Madam Pomfrey couldn't prove that he wasn't faking this?" He added on, as it was obvious to anyone as far as he was concerned.

James did not look pleased as he worked out, "As it wasn't technically school related, he still had an arm to do his homework and such, I suppose Wood couldn't have gotten this to happen. He had no proof, and so long as Hufflepuff agreed to the switch it wasn't technically forfeiting."

"What's the big difference?" Lily asked curiously, as all the boys were clearly taking a great offense to this. Lily certainly found it sad that these students were still playing up this, but she could tell there was something else about this.

Sirius was more than happy to explain, all the while using a huffy tone at these little jerks, "Every team has a different style of playing. So giving such short notice that the team won't be playing means they've been practicing a completely different regiment then they would have against the other team."

Lily couldn't help but recognize that there clearly was much more thought and skill in this sport then she normally thought, but simply nodded in understanding.

Wood as outraged as anyone at the news as he explained that they'd been able to get away with this because Malfoy's arm was still injured. Of course Wood knew they just didn't want to play in this horrid weather.

"Like it will make a difference when they still play," James spat. "Gryffindor's team will still smoke the field with these backhanded twats."

Harry insisted that Malfoy was faking it, but as they couldn't prove that, they were stuck. Then Wood informed Harry that Hufflepuff's Seeker was named Cedric Diggory.

Harry suddenly released a furious yelp of pain, clasping his hand to his forehead like he'd just been scalded. The others startled at once, looking to him with mounting worry, but Harry was determinedly already putting himself under control, ignoring the painful build up that name had caused and blinking the white spots out of his eyes to glance around and see their fearful looks. He gave them a sheepish smile, but didn't offer an apology this time, knowing by now how that would be received, and instead explained the feeling that had accompanied the flash. "Another name I'm sure I know. It is definitely significant to me," then he paused and cocked his head to the side as he tried to consider and absorb all he could from that already faded feeling without straining himself. He shrugged, recognizing he had nothing else to offer on this.

The rest of them exchanged curious looks, that had hardly explained why Harry felt so strongly about this student, but knew better than to press him for a more direct answer.

The Chaser girls began to giggle.

James rolled his eyes, not understanding that attitude one bit about a rival team, but read curiously.

Wood asked what was so funny, and Angelina happily explained that Diggory was that handsome one, yes?

"Ah," Lily smirked.

"Would recommend against dating someone on a different house team," Remus chuckled, "but to each their own."

Fred snapped back people only thought that because he was too dense to say anything.

"Did I detect a hint of some jealousy in that?" Sirius asked with interest.

"Wouldn't surprise me," James shrugged, not nearly as curious about these boys love life, and far more concerned about what kind of player this Diggory was.

Then Fred continued addressing Oliver, reminding him the last time they'd gone against Hufflepuff, Harry had broken a record for the fastest catch.

"Hope he doesn't let them get too over confident," James noted, quirking a brow in surprise, "letting them get cocky could cost them later."

"Wish someone had told you that sooner," Lily snipped at him, and James gave her an indulgent smile for that.

Wood rounded on him, shouting that was completely different!

"Dang, bit of an overreaction with the shouting," Sirius winced.

"Might I remind you, this is the same boy who said, 'get the snitch or die trying'" Lily rolled her eyes, "I don't think anything's an overreaction to this boy about this game."

"Mum," Harry groaned, "I told you, he didn't really mean that."

Lily shrugged, she still wasn't taking that back.

Wood was still insisting they had to remain sharp, as Diggory was bigger than Harry and his bulk would be an advantage in this weather! They had to win! Fred looked very startled as he began calming his captain.

"Glad I wasn't the only one thinking it," Sirius smirked, though to be honest he did agree with Oliver as well. He would love more than anything to hear about Harry getting the Cup, it would probably make up for any awful feelings he had about this year.

Promising they were taking Hufflepuff seriously.

"Oh come on!" Sirius cried in outrage, receiving two very sharp pokes from both sides of him, making him squirm slightly and nearly waking up the infant. Both boys looked slightly repentant, and Sirius began grumbling if they didn't stop it he was going to move to the fireplace again. James didn't take the threat, well seriously, but he did stop attempting to smother his friend; while he was holding his son anyways.

The weather refused to be on their side, slowly getting worse as time went on, to the pleasure of Malfoy.

"Wish they would just cancel the match, and wait until this little brat stops faking his injury," Lily sighed.

"Not going to happen," James shook his head, "last year was an anomaly, Quidditch isn't usually cancelled for anything, since in the professional leagues Quidditch really isn't cancelled for anything."

He lamented how sad he was he couldn't play because of his injury.

"Someone needs to show that kid a real injury," Sirius scowled.

Harry didn't get much of a chance to think on that, as Wood kept randomly running up to Harry in the corridors and coaching him on maneuvers for the game, and at one point this went on for so long he realized he was late for his DADA class.

"Well then, it's a good thing you have such an understanding professor," James snickered.

Remus rolled his eyes indulgently, privately thinking he would end up defending himself if his future self did give Harry a warning for that, then he went slightly cross-eyed, still finding it just a little weird he was thinking of himself in the future tense at all like this.

Wood was still yelling after Harry as he ran off that Diggory was known for his turning abilities,

"Glad he took the hint," Lily grumbled.

but Harry paid that no mind as he darted into class, already apologizing to his professor for being late, when he caught sight of Snape.

"Say what?" They all frowned, looking genuinely upset and confused at this.

Then Remus blinked in understanding, asking, "don't suppose you know how close to a full moon it was Harry?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before shrugging, admitting he really had no idea as he didn't keep an eye on that type of thing.

James was still frowning as he said, "yes alright, so you wouldn't be feeling too good if that's it, but Snape! No other teacher could have covered for you!"

"I'm fairly sure I didn't get to pick my replacement," Remus offered.

Sirius was just a little too distracted to put his opinion on this, thinking back to that potion and what he'd thought it was. If Remus was still this sick around the full moon, had they been wrong, and this had nothing to do with his lycanthropy? He was still frowning, very unhappy that he might have been wrong on that guess, but also at least a bit happy he'd never voiced this theory, since they would have been wrong and it would have given false hopes to Remus.

Harry was still scowling though, grumbling that, "of all our rotten luck. We'd heard rumors a few times by now that Remus had missed some of his classes because he was sick all the time, but the twins got Sprout for a cover."

They all agreed it was a real misfortune the schedule had worked out like that, but Remus had been right, it wasn't like it had been planned.

Snape wasn't pleased, telling Harry he'd lost ten points for his house for being so late and told him to take his seat.

Remus frowned, since he knew Harry wasn't always late he found that a far harsher punishment then it was called for, but this was Snape, so there wasn't any point in saying this.

Harry didn't, instead asking where their normal teacher was.

"I'm touched," Remus smiled indulgently at Harry, who instantly smiled right back. He didn't need to know the missing link he hadn't then to always know he'd rather have Remus then Snape any day of the year.

Snape smirked as he informed them that he was feeling sick today,

"Sadistic little bastard, finding that funny," Sirius scowled.

Lily gave him a rather ugly look, though mostly for his saying that while holding her son.

then again told him to sit down. Harry asked how sick, and Snape seemed mildly disappointed when he admitted it wasn't going to kill him.

This time James, Sirius, and Harry all said something rather foul for that implied tone, even Lily couldn't help a cheeky response for his being all the more unprofessional in front of the students like that.

Remus was just warmed and slightly amused at their defense of him.

Then he took five more points away from Harry for still not taking his seat, and threatened to do more if his orders weren't followed.

"Maybe if you did more to earn their respect, they'd listen to you," Remus snarked, causing James and Sirius to exchange triumphant smiles, very much wishing Remus would really say something like that to Snape soon.

Harry slunked off to his seat as Snape began talking to the whole of the class, beginning by saying Lupin hadn't left any kind of note about what they'd gone over in this class,

"I doubt that," James scowled, knowing Remus was usually a pretty organized person and would think to do something like this.

"Most likely, you just didn't look for one," Sirius agreed with a growl.

and Hermione raised her hand and began to explain, but Snape told her to be quite, he'd only been pointing out how little Lupin kept up with his work.

"He could have left you a whole damned book worth of notes and you'd still complain," Harry huffed.

Lily gave a disapproving look at her son, clearly thinking these boys were rubbing off on Harry since this was the first time he'd said something like this, but she couldn't disagree either.

Dean shot back that Lupin was the best teacher they'd ever had, while the rest of the class nodded in total agreement.

This time Remus really couldn't help but blush, the combined affection from this class and his family both unexpected and more warming than he would have seen coming.

James and Sirius were unsurprised, James continued in a rather pompous tone of voice as if he'd just received the compliment himself he was so happy for his friend.

Snape was not pleased, looking more menacing than ever.

Sirius rolled his eyes, knowing he'd have to see that to believe it. While he considered Snivellus no one to underestimate during school, he still found it hard to find him 'menacing'.

He scoffed that they were easily pleased, telling how a first year should have been able to deal with the stuff they'd been handling.

"And I might agree with you," Remus frowned, "if they'd had a competent teacher the past two years."

"I was fixing to have heart failure," Sirius told him with a straight face, "watching you agree with him like that."

Remus rolled his eyes indulgently as he explained, "I'll bet that Dumbledore had told me of the past two years, so I haven't been surprised one bit what you've been going over."

He turned to the instructed book, and went to the very last chapter, knowing full well the class hadn't gotten to it yet.

"Typical," James gave a long suffering sigh, before doing a double take at the next sentence.

Which happened to be over werewolves.

"Why that-" Lily then proceeded to call him something that would have made her go red in the face on a normal day. The boys hardly noticed, as their language wasn't much better. What Snape was doing right then was absolutely horrible, and he had no right whatsoever!

Remus went from giddy pleasure he had clearly been handling his dream job like a glove, to shame and fear that he very well might get kicked out of it before the first term was up. If even one student figured it out, mayhem was going to explode inside the castle, owls from parents were going to start arriving...Merlin he might even be arrested. No, surely he was just being paranoid, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him if it could get that bad... right?

After being the last one to stop his verbal abuse, Sirius finally found some small words of comfort, "look at it this way, students have to learn this every year, and no one figured it out while you were at school. Surely it won't be any different now."

Lily wanted to disagree, saying it was slightly different from a random student to a more prominent teacher, but she refused to be the one to drain what little color had just returned to Remus' face; clearly he'd taken Sirius' comfort to heart.

James was still gritting his teeth so hard he wondered if it was going to crack his skull, Sirius might be right but it didn't excuse this slimeballs actions, but after swallowing a bit of bile forcefully read.

Hermione tried to protest that they were on something else, but Snape snapped at her he didn't need her opinion on it. The class hatefully began flipping to the proper chapter, and Snape began questioning them what were the differences between a werewolf and a normal wolf. Hermione was the only one to raise her hand,

"Guess I'm not too surprised," Remus sighed, not looking nearly as amused as he tried to put into his tone, "Hermione would read ahead and know this."

but Snape ignored this, taunting them that they could come face to face with the monster and not recognize it, Lupin was clearly lacking.

"Yes, because he'd just go out of his way to do that," Sirius growled.

Remus couldn't help but wince, almost happy now that he thought about it, that Snape had decided to take this lesson. Twisted as his reasons were, it was still slightly better than having to do this himself. He chose not to say that aloud though, knowing it wouldn't be received well.

Parvati began to remind Snape that they hadn't studied this yet, and Snape told her to be quite as well, before saying he'd make a mental note to tell the headmaster how far behind this class was.

"Behind?" James scowled. "I'd like to see how many of your students can pass a simple potion, considering how much they all hate you I wouldn't be half surprised if they failed on purpose."

Hermione was still trying to stay on topic, beginning to list the ways she knew the two differed, but then Snape took five points from her for speaking out of turn, and being a know it all.

Harry scowled so badly at the book, he actually made as if to twitch for his wand that time.

"That man has no bounds," Lily yelped in outrage, "he asked a question and then insults her! I can't believe I'm even surprised anymore, after the way he's been treating Neville," she trailed off into foul mutterings, but the other boys didn't have nearly the same restraint. They continued griping about him for a few more minutes until it started getting loud enough the baby started squirming again.

James sighed, but relented they couldn't continue yelling forever, so pressed on.

Ron lost his temper, as Hermione put her hand down and looked near tears he shouted at the teacher that it was Snape's own fault for asking a question he didn't want the answer to. Disregarding the fact that he called his friend a know-it-all once a week.

"And that's why I adore Ron," Lily smiled fondly before Sirius could make a joke about how she'd mimicked him. "Very happy someone said that to him."

James looked for a moment as if he might get up and kiss his wife for that one, having only been a beat away from saying something similar, while the other boys were nodding in fervent agreement.

Snape gave Ron a detention for that, telling him that if he ever spoke about the way he taught again, he'd be the worst kind of sorry.

This thankfully didn't reignite the attitude, though it hardly lessened it. The only reason they weren't doing a bit more than grumbling was because they could hardly argue that point, though they each found it personally loathsome at the implied threat he'd just made to a student.

Then Snape set them to work on taking notes, while going over previous assignments they'd had. He was critiquing that one had been graded wrong, kappa's weren't from Mongolia,

"What, did the student simply say East Asia and that just wasn't specific enough for you?" James scowled.

and on one he wouldn't have given the student a three out of ten it was so poorly done.

"I'm finding it more of a miracle every day anybody ever passed his courses," Sirius snarled.

When they were finally released, Snape set them the homework of an essay on how to spot and kill a werewolf,

"He shouldn't even be allowed to assign homework while he's subbing," Harry huffed.

Remus personally felt he might have argued that point, for any other teacher, but didn't find it worth it for this pompous git.

two rolls of parchment,

"Two rolls of parchment?" Lily balked. "They may as well just copyright the whole chapter on them."

"He may as well simply write on the board what he's wanting them to figure out!" James snarled.

and he wanted it Monday.

"Please Remus, please drag your arse out of bed and make it to that class," Sirius groaned.

Remus gave his friend a pitying look, though he couldn't deny he hoped so himself.**

He finished by saying it was high time someone took over this class.

"I swear he'd mock Dumbledore himself he's so bitter about not getting this job," James grumbled.

Ron had to stay behind to be given his detention details, while the rest of the class stormed out and hardly waited until they turned the corner to talk about Snape.

"Impressed they even have that self-restraint," Sirius huffed.

Harry was telling Hermione that Snape had never been that bad before, what was it about Lupin?

"Even knowing the answer, this is still stupid," Harry scowled.

Harry wondered if it was all really because of the boggart.

"Actually not," Remus disagreed, then he blinked when he realized Harry actually didn't know the complete reason. Harry now thought Snape hated him for their childhood grudge they had told Harry about, but they had actually left something out when briefly telling Harry a bit about their time during school. No one had brought up the night that Snape had figured out he was a werewolf. Harry didn't seem to be questioning this now, and Remus swallowed hard before asking hesitantly, "ah Harry, why aren't you more surprised Severus knows about me?"

Harry just shrugged as he said, "thought all the teachers would know, none of them seem to be that confused as to why you're sick."

James and Sirius exchanged uneasy looks when they realized what Remus was considering telling Harry, then Sirius nudged Remus hard, not particularly wanting that story to come to his ears right now. Yes Harry right now still didn't really think the worst of Sirius like he did back when he was thirteen, but he'd still rather go as long as possible without that little story coming up.

Remus wasn't going to argue the point, so James took the silent opportunity to keep going.

Hermione disagreed, but did hope Lupin was feeling better soon.

"Trust us Hermione, we all do," Lily sighed.

Ron ran up to them not long later, calling Snape something that made Hermione say 'Ron!'

"What did he say?" Sirius asked, far too amused in Lily's opinion.

Harry told them, which made Lily do a double take that he knew that word, but James chuckled in complete agreement and moved on anyways.

Then he explained his detention was to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing, without using magic.

Most of them muttered either 'ouch' or 'ew' for that particular punishment.

Then Ron groused at the world why couldn't Black have hid out in Snape's office and done him in for them?

"Now why didn't I think of that," Sirius cried, shifting the baby carefully into one arm so he could pop himself on the forehead for the theatrics, causing at least Harry to laugh.

Harry woke the next morning with Peeves blowing air into his face.

"I've never known Peeves to get into the dorms," Lily startled.

"We've let him in from time to time as personal vengeance," Remus shrugged, more than happy at this change of subject. "The twins might have done the same for some pregame jitters release."

Harry asked what the point of that was, and Peeves just laughed as he left.

"He's a lovely chap really," James snickered.

Harry glanced at his clock and saw it wasn't even five in the morning.

"Dang," Sirius drew the word out, now grimacing in pity.

It was impossible to go back to sleep though, the weather outside was so awful you could hardly see five feet. So instead Harry got up and went downstairs to lounge in front of the fire, but as he was leaving his room, Crookshanks tried to sneak past, and Harry had to grab him to stop him.

"That cat really does seem to have it out for Scabbers in particular," Lily winced.

Harry gave his mom a curious look, very much wondering why his gut's first reaction was to agree with his mother's obvious joke. Cats didn't 'have it out' for any other particular animal...right?

He pulled the cat outside and scolded it, telling him to leave Scabbers alone.

"Never met a pet with a grudge," Remus chuckled without any amusement.

Harry was left stewing in the common room, reflecting that the larger boy Diggory who he'd seen in the hallway would have a better time in the field today as this weather wouldn't bother his bulk nearly as much.

"Well dang, this just all kinds of sucks," Sirius grimaced.

He didn't move around too much, except to occasionally get back to his feet and stop Crookshanks going back up to his room,

"Jeez, I think Hermione should put a leash on this cat," James scowled.

"We'll be lucky if we go till the end of the year without another accident like last time," Sirius agreed.

but before long the rest of the team arrived and they went down to breakfast. Oliver was in a clear panic as he kept eyeing the storm outside, and Alicia tried to calm him down it was just a little rain.

"Admire the girl's pep anyways," Remus smiled.

"Even if this sounds like quite a bit more than 'a bit of rain,'" Lily smirked.

Such was the popularity of Quidditch, that the weather be damned, and the stadium filled to capacity just like always. As Harry tromped down in the muck, he spotted Malfoy and his friends with an umbrella laughing at the lot of them.

"You just wait you pompous, arrogant little thing," James sneered, "you've got four more years of this game, and I'll bet the next time you do have to play Harry the weather's going to be just as bad, and Harry's still going to sweep you seven ways."

Harry couldn't help but grin at his dad for the confidence, allowing him to ignore a building sense of unease about this game. He was trying very hard to ignore this, not wanting yet another game to be ruined again.

Inside the locker rooms, Wood was trying to give his usual pep talk, but words were escaping him, until finally he gave up and led them outside.

"Wow, poor kid," Sirius said in sympathy.

Lily still couldn't help but feel he was taking this a little too seriously, but she also recognized that there wasn't much she could do but continue hoping nothing to bad happened during this game. One quick glance at Harry didn't help those spirits.

The wind was so fierce Harry was staggering even before he made it to the center of the stadium, and already half blinded by the rain all over his glasses.

"No one's still showed you that charm," James scowled at Harry's team mates. Sure it didn't say anyone else wore glasses, but surely someone would have taken the time to show Harry this.

Harry just shrugged, admitting that no, no one had told him about this so he'd not known to do it.

Harry was having problems seeing his own glove, how was he going to find the tiny golden ball? The Captains of the teams shook hands, and while Diggory tried for a smile, Harry saw that Wood looked more tense then anything.

"Nicer than some other teams, I assure you," Remus snickered.

Harry didn't hear Madam Hooch's order to get on their brooms, but he followed suit as the others did, and also went on faith as he kicked off that the whistle had been blown.

James couldn't help the little swell of happiness that reading this caused him, absolutely positive that nothing could go wrong during this game.

He shot into the air like always, but soon found himself completely lost. He couldn't hear the commentator, could barely make out the sea of students below, and more than once a Bludger nearly took his head off because he couldn't see through the downpour drowning his glasses.

All five of them were frowning at this, knowing the game was hardly any fun in these conditions. James was still personally affronted someone, like himself, hadn't been able to give Harry some simple advice like blocking the rain from his glasses, but he refused to let his mood stay dampened and so read on with forced chipper.

He only just noticed Wood waving him to the ground, and Harry shot down to find Wood had called a timeout, and Harry took the quick moment to try and wipe off his glasses.

"What did you even have to dry them on," Sirius rolled his eyes, "sounds like everything on you was soaked."

Harry nodded, admitting he hadn't exactly done a good job and had in fact made his glasses even wetter.

Harry asked what was going on with the rest of the game, and found they were winning by points, but they had to catch the Snitch soon to keep it. Harry was just pointing out how useless he felt with the glasses when Hermione showed up, telling Harry she knew something that might help.

"Thank Merlin for Hermione," James smirked.

"High time someone thought to give you that spell," Sirius agreed.

She took Harry's glasses and used the spell Impervius on them.

Harry nodded to himself, now determined to commit that spell to memory for future use.

She explained that now they would keep water off his face, and Wood looked likely to kiss her.

"I'm sure that would have been a sight," Remus said, not even bothering to hide a light laugh at this obvious joke.

They returned to the game with renewed vigor, and Harry was just banking around the field when he saw it again, in the highest points of the stands was sitting a black dog.

All of them released surprised bursts of laughter at this. Even Lily had to admit, loco or not, Sirius would certainly not have sat by when he found out Harry was on the Quidditch team and would swim across an ocean just to see this for himself. Harry went from startled at realizing this to amusement himself, further burying that nuisance of a feeling that something really bad was about to happen. Surely he was just remembering the feelings of having to play in such weather.

Harry was so shocked he nearly slipped off his broom,

Sirius refused to let his wince ruin his proud look, so he'd startled Harry again, Harry was sure to shake it off and continue playing.

but when he steadied himself and looked again, the dog was gone.

"Looks like you got spotted," Remus noted lightly.

Sirius cocked his head to the side, curious why he would have moved even if Harry had stared at him. Honestly he'd have much rather his future self had done something that would make Harry want to seek him out, rather than this constant disappearing act. The Knight Bus he could understand not wanting to hang around, but in the stands like this, why should he do more than he already was to stay out of sight?

He didn't get long to dwell on it, as he spotted Cedric racing into the sky, and feet above him, was the snitch.

"Dang it Sirius," James fake scowled, "quite distracting him!"

"Well I am just so sorry he spotted me at all," Sirius grinned with good nature, then he turned to Harry and said with mock sternness, "how dare you pick me out in the crowd like that and get caught off guard."

Harry was chuckling lightly, ignoring the growing tension inside of him as he continued bouncing around in unease. All of the boys noticed his mood this time, and James frowned for real now, wondering if Harry really might have lost the match this time. He quickly turned back to the book rather than let anyone dwell on it too much.

Harry slammed into high gear, yelling at his broom to go faster so he could catch up,

'Doubt yelling at it actually helps' Lily couldn't help but think, but leaned forward, just as hopeful as anyone else that Harry truly did win.

but then he realized something weird was happening. The howl of the wind was dying down, and a new cold was seeping in. He glanced around in confusion, wondering why his hearing was failing him,

Harry groaned, coiling back into the couch suddenly as the ghost of a chill crept back over him; he now knew without a single doubt what was going on, and he didn't want this one little bit.

James turned an ugly shade of gray as he looked swiftly from the book, to his son, to Sirius; coming to the sudden realization why Sirius might have run out of there now. If Sirius had sensed the dementors coming, it's no wonder he would have bolted.

Sirius had to restrain himself from not shivering so hard it would wake up the napping child in his lap, but instead wrapped his arms as tight around him as he could without disturbing him. Remus gave him a pitiful look, but no words of comfort really came to mind.

Lily made a choking noise, remembering all too well what had happened the last time Harry had been around those things. She didn't even have the heart to ask how high up he was on his broom, but simply scooped up her sons hand and held it tightly in her own, feeling slightly warmed when he returned the pressure.

then Harry glanced down as he recognized that cold feeling, and saw them moving on the field blow, gliding up towards them.

"Like I needed confirmation," James muttered as he turned the page with perhaps more force than necessary out of nerves.

At least a hundred dementors,

"A-a hun-" Lily stuttered, looking nearly faint.

"Harry passed out when he was around one," James moaned, his hands shaking so hard the book was close to falling from his grip.

Harry didn't seem to appreciate the reminder, but he just couldn't muster up the energy to gripe at his dad for it. The echo of that empty, cold feeling was as clear now as if he were in front of a dementor right now, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what his gut was insisting. Something was about to happen, something bad, something that his family wasn't going to appreciate hearing about.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, still on the same mindset as James and hoping that at least this time someone would step in sooner and try to get rid of those dementors. Then each remembered their own reason why that wouldn't have happened. Remus was too sick to attend class, surely he was passed out in a bed somewhere. Sirius had just made a run from the arena, most likely unaware of Harry's condition, and even if he was, could he really do anything to help without getting caught?

James swallowed hard, now desperately wishing he had forced Sirius to read this chapter just so he wouldn't have to, but knew it wouldn't be right to force anyone else to read about this either, so he mustered himself up and read.

could be spotted floating towards him,

'Why him!' Lily wanted to sob. Those things were in a stadium full of people, she vaguely understood why they would have been attracted to the swells of emotion coming from there, but why would any of them focus on her son in particular. She wasn't an expert on dementors, and wasn't even sure of how they worked. She understood they could be controlled and given directions, but she also couldn't understand how that would relate to her son. She had no doubts though that no one understood this any better than her, maybe Remus, but she was far more concerned with hearing that Harry didn't break every bone in his body and couldn't bring herself to ask without really starting to cry so bottled that in.

and once again Harry could hear screaming beginning inside his head, it was a woman he knew, then he could make out her words, 'not Harry.'

Now the book really did clatter to the floor, and James couldn't help the tears that sprung to his eyes. He realized what Harry was remembering now...

"Oh," Lily whispered, swallowing very hard and blinking slowly and carefully as she tried her very best not to burst into tears as she suddenly realized what her baby's worst memory was.

Harry went pale as his father, leaning away from the book as if it were going to lash out and bite him, and almost wishing it would. That would feel better than this horrible pit that was growing inside of him as that memory came back to mind.

James was just looking down at the book like it truly was his dead wife. He didn't think he could do this, sit here and read about Lily's final moments. It wasn't like when he'd realized the deadly situations Harry was in, like reading the basilisk. Then, he could continually glance up at his grown son, and take comfort Harry had survived. Now though, now he truly couldn't do that, because Lily...

"Here," and suddenly his son was being placed into his vacant hands, and James was rather startled to realize that his lap had some odd little wet spots. He shook his head so violently his glasses were nearly tossed across the room as he glanced up and around to see Sirius now picking up the book and rummaging around for his spot. Then he quickly went about settling his now fussy child, who clearly wasn't pleased at the sudden change in placement.

Both Sirius and Remus were the color of new snow, and one look over showed Harry and Lily were only a bit better than James because they were clinging to each other. Harry was all but curled into his mother, and while Lily's lower lip was trembling violently she was holding herself together by brushing her hand repetitively through her son's hair in comfort for them both.

Sirius' hands were shaking so bad, he was likely to get a couple of paper cuts from flipping pages until he found his place, but he'd take that any day rather than try and watch James say what he forced out next.

There was another voice, telling her to move, but the woman refused, begging over and over again not Harry. Harry knew he should do something, because that woman was going to die, but there was nothing, he knew nothing but sound as the woman continued to scream for mercy. Then he blacked out.

He had read all of that so fast, most of the words had strung together and his voice was so thick with emotion it was lucky they understood any of it. They all had though, so it was more unlucky in this case. Sirius had to clear his throat several times before he made as if to keep going, but then James forced himself to collect his emotions, and shove them out so that he could deal with it later. For now, he gave Sirius a grateful squeeze on the shoulder, and offered back Harry.

Sirius took a moment to silently asses his friend. He didn't really like what he saw, but under the circumstances the fact that James wasn't curled up into a ball on the floor was a miracle in itself, so he relented. Recognizing that James needed to do this for himself, not only finish this chapter, but continue reading this play out.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, loaded down with concern and their own distraught at the situation, but Sirius did indeed take the baby back so that James could read. Taking several deep breaths to make sure he could go on intelligibly, he began again.

There were other voices now, talking about how lucky Harry was he wasn't dead, it was a very good thing the ground had been more mud than anything, but it couldn't have been that bad as his glasses hadn't even broke.

"That's right comforting to wake up to that is," Harry mumbled, rubbing furiously at his arms to get the ghost of that chill away. Lily wrapped her arm protectively around him, not letting any more space between them then she could help, but knew better than to offer a spell to warm him. This wasn't the kind of thing normal heat could cure, but her warm hug seemed to be doing the trick.

Harry struggled to remember, but was coming up blank. He had no idea where he was, or how he'd got there, or what could have caused this.

"Don't rightly want him to remember to be honest," James huffed, dearly wishing he could purge that own memory from his system, let alone it festering in his son's mind.

Then someone whispered how scary it had all been, and Harry's brain caught up and he did remember as his eyes jerked open.

Remus sighed, wondering if it might be in his power in this future to convince Dumbledore Harry might do some good with a couple of extra DADA lessons. He was clearly vulnerable to dementors in particular, who could blame him, and Remus knew without a doubt he'd work day and night with Harry to help him learn the charm to counter them. Considering how limited he'd been so far though, he couldn't help but wonder if the headmaster would assent to this. Clearly Remus didn't have a lot of say in the matter, despite that right now he wouldn't have cared and done it anyways no matter what anyone said, it seemed in this future he may have lost his will along with his friends.

Harry was in a bed in the hospital wing, with the majority of his team around his bed looking like they'd had a mud bath. Ron and Hermione were there as well, though more wet then anything. Fred was the first to get over his shock of him being awake, asking how he was?

"Absolutely peachy, and you?" Sirius scowled.

Harry let his mind rewind back, to that Grim he'd seen, watching Diggory go after the Snitch, then the dementors showing up.

The group gave a collective shudder, now knowing they'd rather break an arm then allow Harry near those dementors again.

Harry asked what happened after that, and Fred told that Harry had collapsed, falling fifty feet back to the ground.

"Because this wasn't the worst day of my life already, I really needed that mental image," James scowled, for the first time ever really wanting Fred to shut up now.

Alicia mumbled that they'd thought he'd died. Hermione made an odd noise, her eyes looking rather bloodshot at that statement.

That drew a wane smile from Lily at least, remembering her little guess that Hermione might truly see Harry as more than a friend, or at least it was heading that way, but she still felt a little too emotional about a few other things to really think on it.

Harry wouldn't linger on that, asking when the rematch for the game would be.

James snorted so violently the book nearly slipped from his grasp again.

"Well, glad he's got his priorities straight," Remus said in a too high pitched voice.

Harry gave them a rather sheepish look, before shrugging and admitting, "really didn't want to dwell on that memory in front of them, so I picked the first thing that came to mind."

"Would they do a replay?" Lily asked quickly, fully understanding his logic.

James mulled that over for a moment, deciding he needed to thank his son for giving him this distraction as he said aloud, "It depends. What with the dementors interrupting, and depending on when exactly Harry fell off, if that other kid caught the Snitch before Harry fell it would have been fair."

Harry didn't think his feelings could actually sink lower, but now as he continued remembering his teammate's faces, and his father's words sinking in, he realized this day actually could get worse.

James winced as he realized he wasn't exactly helping, so hoping he was wrong he read.

When no one answered him, Harry then came to the conclusion that they'd lost. George explained properly saying Diggory had got the Snitch right before Harry fell.

"Dang it," they all muttered, though absently noting they didn't feel nearly as down about this as they should have. Somehow, this game just didn't feel as important as it should have anymore. They were certain that if Harry had won and this still happened, they would have properly congratulated him, but do to circumstances, James instead did what any good father would and told his son, "'s'alright Harry. Can't win every match you play right? You're still a damned good Seeker, but even the best have to lose at it sometimes."

Harry beamed over at him, warmed beyond belief the others didn't blame him all the more for not only bringing up this terrible memory, but losing the game to boot. They were in fact going out of their way to comfort him and still try to make him feel better.

Diggory had tried to call it off, asking for a rematch himself,

"Least he's a decent kind," Sirius grinned.

but even Wood had admitted it was a fair game. Harry then realized his captain wasn't present, and asked where he was. Fred told that he was drowning himself in the shower somewhere.

They all grimaced, thinking the captain of the team should be up there making sure Harry was okay along with everyone else, but none of them could muster up the energy to be too mad at him, still drained themselves.

Harry curled into himself then, pressed his forehead against his knees in frustration and grabbing at his hair. Fred wouldn't allow that, shaking Harry's shoulder to keep his attention.

James immediately took back what he'd thought before about wanting the twins to shut up, and hoped these two would set Harry straight then like he had now.

Comforting the boy that Harry couldn't win every game there was, it had been bound to happen. George jumped in that it didn't even put them out of the Cup, it all added up to points from the other teams.

"See, you're not even out of the running yet," Remus reminded bracingly, making Harry really smile this time. He may have lost the match, and was still stuck on hearing his mother's last moments, but it was still good to know he hadn't lost his team the running. Surely there must be some way to combat dementors and their effects, his gut was already assuring him he was on the right track so that he could fix this problem and hopefully not have to deal with this ever again.

Harry said nothing, still frozen on the fact that he'd lost his Quidditch game.

"Happens to the best of us," James and Sirius said together. It still wasn't as funny as it usually was to them, but any attempt at humor was happily welcomed as the somber mood continued to linger.

Madam Pomfrey came marching over then, telling them all to get out so Harry could rest.

"She's such a killjoy," Remus huffed with a roll of his eyes.

Ron and Hermione didn't move though.

"Oh good, at least they got to stay," Lily slightly perked up.

Hermione began to explain how angry Dumbledore had been when he'd heard, that he'd been the one to use a spell to slow Harry's fall to the ground,

"Good of him, least someone did," they all muttered a variation of this, still wanting to kick at themselves for not being the ones to do this.

and how he'd used some silvery spell to make the dementors go away.

"What silver stuff?" Harry asked swiftly, having noted before this was what Remus had been said to do as well to make them go away.

Remus was quick to respond, explaining all about the spell, and by the end Harry looked nearly back to normal. He was so sure in that moment that he must have already learned this, no matter how advanced Remus kept trying to tell him it was. The spell seemed very familiar to him, it seemed to hold a significance he couldn't place, plus Remus being the one to tell him this felt right. When Harry tried to explain this to them, they all beamed with pleasure, having no doubts that, no matter how hard it would be, Harry, along with Remus' help, could master this.

Then Ron jumped in that Dumbledore had been the one to take Harry up here, but it hadn't looked good, everyone thought he might be...

James grimaced in disgust, mentally tallying up the times he'd had to say that aloud, and growing more than sick of the number.

he didn't seem able to finish, but Harry didn't need him to, nor did he really pay it much mind. He was stuck on what he'd heard when the dementors came for him, and the screaming returned. He looked around for something else to think about,

"Guess you didn't tell them then," Lily murmured, hardly looking upset this time. She personally didn't want to sit around and hear Harry explain this to anyone, let alone his friends.

and asked where his broom was? No one answered.

"Oh this can't be good," James' frown actually deepend at their hesitation, then he read quickly.

It took Harry prompting them for Hermione to begin saying that when Harry had let go, his broom had blown away,

"Someone couldn't have summoned it back?" Sirius asked listlessly, personally still too distracted by memories to come to really think on this much.

and hit the Whomping Willow.

Considering how numb most of them felt, this really couldn't draw nearly as much of a reaction out of them as it normally would have. It was pretty awful that something like that happened to him, but it was clear as Harry continued leaning into his mother it wasn't his greatest concern right now. Sirius couldn't even bring himself to make the joke that falling off his broom had really been the better option.

Harry felt a horrible jump inside of him, well remembering that violent tree as he continued asking,

"And I'm guessing the broom didn't come out on top in that fight," Remus sighed, so quietly no one but Sirius really heard it, and he couldn't really muster up a smile for him this time.

and Ron added on that the tree didn't like being hit.

"I'm sure Harry remembers that actually," James grumbled.

Then Ron finally turned loose a bag full of twigs and the remainder of his handle, and Harry stared down at his destroyed Nimbus Two Thousand.

"Ouch," James muttered, tossing the book away from him and watching with only the vaguest satisfaction as it landed on the table, then reached eagerly out for his son which Sirius willingly handed over.

HPHPHP

So this had to be like the most depressing chapter, for all kinds of reasons. Their wrong assumptions of all these people's motives, poor dang Sirius, Remus, and James, Lily and Harry, and Harry's Nimbus...  but I hope you still enjoyed.

*A hilarious plot hole that I think can be waved off by Dumbledore, he allows Sirius to do exactly this next year but under normal circumstances would be blocked so that any random old person couldn't do exactly this.

**This is just something personal I noticed but couldn't work in how to make anyone point it out since Harry would obviously know by now, but does this mean that Hogwarts has block scheduling? Harry went his whole first week and didn't have DADA until Friday, why would Snape tell them to give it to him Monday. He's clearly assuming he'll have the class again for the assignment to be handed in to him, but that must mean the weeks have different class time frames different weeks. In the next chapter though, they clearly have DADA again on that Monday, so I don't know why they wouldn't have had it on their first week.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Harry Potter and the Doctrine of the Calvinists

by Dan H

Friday, 17 August 2007

Dan refuses to just give up on the Potter articles already.~

A lot of people are mortally offended by the ending of the Narnia series, because it seems to suggest that Susan's absolute rejection of all the teachings of Christ prevents her from getting into heaven. I actually like it for exactly that reason: it's got a firm grounding in a genuine religious philosophy which I find significantly more interesting than the usual messages one gets from children's literature, or popular fiction in general.

This, of course, is why it seems so crazy to the secular reader. It's based on some profound assumptions about the metaphysical reality of the world, and if you don't believe the world works like that it doesn't make any sense. Many atheists (and a fair number of Christians, for that matter) have a hard time getting their heads around the idea that you can be a perfectly decent person, but still not go to heaven.

Even more difficult for atheists like me to get our heads around are the doctrines of the Calvinists. Very roughly (from my limited understanding) the Calvinists embrace fully the idea that it is impossible for any human being to be truly worthy of God's love. God is just that great and we are just that flawed. This is actually comparatively uncontroversial - it's just a firm statement of the idea that salvation comes wholly from the Grace of God, and not from your individual virtue. The Calvinists take this idea to its logical conclusion: that since obviously not everybody can be saved, God's grace will only fall on a small proportion of the population - the Elect. Since nobody can be worthy of God, whether one is or is not part of the Elect is entirely outside of one's own control. There are just some people who are predestined towards salvation, and some who aren't.

Now it would be easy here to score cheap points and say that this is just somebody using religion as a control mechanism, pretending that the reason he's so much better off than everybody else is because God likes him better. But that's actually not massively plausible. After all, when Calivinist doctrine was first developed, the Calvinists weren't exactly ruling the roost.

Calvinism is actually a fairly logical extension of one of the more difficult points of protestant doctrine: the idea of salvation by grace. People seem to be uncomfortable with the idea that drawing closer to a supernatural being who transcends all of the concerns of physical reality might actually not be the same thing as being nice to people. Perhaps it's just overexposure to classical mythology at an impressionable age, but I don't find it that hard to understand. I somehow can't imagine a classical theologian saying "but why would the Gods be so angry about Prometheus stealing fire? Why do we worship them if they're so mean?" or a Viking saying "I'm sure that Odin will understand that you wanted to die valiantly in battle."

I think that perhaps the reason people find the ideas expressed in - say - Calvinist theology, or The Last Battle is that, since we live in a secular society, we naturally divorce these kinds of ideas from their supernatural context. For example: burning at the stake was actually supposed to be a merciful form of execution, because it allowed the accused the maximum possible amount of time to repent. If you genuinely believe in an immortal soul, this is actually very sensible. Far better to burn somebody to death slowly, giving them a chance to go to heaven, than to cut their head off and condemn them to hell. To somebody who doesn't believe in an afterlife, though, it's needless cruelty.

When you decontextualise the doctrines or practices of a religion, you invariably make them into something extremely sinister and disturbing.

Which is why Harry Potter freaks me out so much.

JK Rowling self-defines as a Christian. More specifically, she was apparently raised Church of Scotland which, the internet reliably informs me, has strong Calvinist influences. If this is true, then it seems that Rowling has allowed her faith to strongly influence her work. Unfortunately she has also allowed it to become so decontextualised as to be unrecognisable.

Let us take the principle of Election, the notion that there are a fortunate few who, by grace of God, shall be called to salvation. In the Potterverse "Election" is called "Sorting" and instead of being controlled by Almighty God it is controlled by a hat.

Now I know Rowling pays lip service to the houses all being equal, but it's nonsense. Gryffindor is the superior house, all the way. Rowling herself declares not only that she would want to be in Gryffindor if she attended Hogwarts but also that she "hopes she would be found worthy."

So basically at the age of eleven, your fate is already sealed. Either you're Gryffindor, or you're evil, or you're chattel. You can't change, you can't be redeemed (unless you've already had the good fortune to fall in love with a Gryffindor) you are either Good or you are Evil or you Just Don't Matter and none of your decisions, none of your actions, mean a damned thing. No matter how much of a bullying little shit James Potter was, we are never really asked to see him as anything but a hero. Lily treats Snape like dirt, but is still the byword for selfless love in the series. And of course Dumbledore, our epitome of goodness, is a manipulative self-serving bastard who plots world domination and raises Harry to be a sacrificial lamb. But in the end we are expected to view all of these people as heroes because they were Gryffindors and therefore virtuous by definition.

Then of course there is Snape. After nearly twenty years of loyal service to Dumbledore, risking death or worse to spy on the Dark Lord, and incidentally building up a loyal fanbase who for some reason think that being smart is cooler than owning a flying motorcycle, JK Rowling eventually grants him the ultimate accolade. "Sometimes, we sort too soon." If a member of a different house displays courage, it shows that they must really be a Gryffindor deep down.

Rowling clearly subscribes to the philosophy that a person has a fundamental nature. That deep down a person cannot change. Deep down Harry is a hero, Percy is officious, Voldemort is Evil, Snape is a bully, Dumbledore is good but tempted by power. None of these traits will change, none of them can change. Rowling seems to believe it impossible.

This is most apparent, I think, in how she writes about Harry. It is never his actions. which win him praise, but rather the spirit in which he acts. This is perhaps most apparent in the seventh book, when Harry uses the Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow and McGonagall responds with the statement that it is "very gallant" of him.

Now I admit I might be a little bit behind the times here, but how is torturing your enemies "gallant"? Presumably in the same way that a single minded obsession with the personal destruction of your enemies has something to do with "love".

But my objections here are based on a false assumption: on the assumption that a person's moral character (their salvation, their redemption) is in any way affected by their actions. In Rowling's world it is not, and this is a deliberate and conscious theme throughout the books. Harry performs the same actions as other characters, but because he is by nature pure, his actions are actions of goodness, not of evil.

Even further proof that Harry's goodness is nothing to do with his actions - or indeed even his personality - but is instead some kind of elemental property comes from this rather interesting quote, regarding the fact that Voldemort had hope of salvation:

"Because he had taken into his body this-- this drop of hope or love (Harry's blood). So that meant that if he could have mustered the courage to repent, he would have been okay. But, of course, he wouldn't. And that's his choice."

Now there's two interesting things here. The first is that Voldemort's hope came literally from Harry's blood. Voldemort is not a person, Harry is not a person. Harry is a vessel full of Hope and Love in distilled form. No matter how many people he tortures or brutalises, he will always have Hope and Love in his very blood. It is physical contact with Harry's blood that gave Voldemort his one chance of redemption.

The second, subtler point is this one:

"But, of course, he wouldn't. And that's his choice."

Notice that she uses the words "of course" and "his choice" in the same sentence. And this is the point I find most interesting.

If you ever try to argue that JK Rowling is a slavering determinist, people always pull out two facts. Firstly, there's the fact that Harry "chose" not to be placed in Slytherin. Secondly, there's this extremely interesting line by Dumbledore.

"It is our choices Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."

Now I hope it doesn't look like I'm being obsessive here, but I think it's extremely telling that Dumbledore uses the phrase "show what we truly are" and not " say "decide what we become." Dumbledore is telling us, quite clearly, that who we are never changes, that the decisions we make in our lives serve only to illuminate our natures, which are otherwise immutable.

So Voldemort could never have been redeemed. He was given the chance to "try for some remorse" but there was never any realistic expectation that he would be able to. Indeed we are told repeatedly throughout the series that Voldemort is not capable of love. Not that he hasn't known love, that he has never experienced love, that he is literally incapable of it.

A choice, to Rowling, is not a chance to control one's own destiny, but a chance to show your quality. The outcome of a choice is predetermined. Voldemort would never have chosen redemption, so he had no chance of redemption, no matter how much of Harry's Magic Blood he had pumping through him.

I started this article talking about Calvinist Election, and by mentioning that "atheists like me" find it a rather disturbing concept. I think a big thing that people find uncomfortable is the idea that "the Elect" get to strut around being all superior, just because some random fluke made them God's Chosen. This is of course not how it works. The whole point of Election is that no one man is more worthy of salvation than any other, that any who are saved, are saved by the grace of God, not by their own merits. Within Calvinist philosophy being "chosen" doesn't make you better than anybody else, it just gives you one extra reason to thank God.

Rowling's world, however, really does work the way atheists perceive Calvinist Election as working. Harry is arbitrarily singled out as being "special" or "chosen" and this literally does make him better than other people. Harry is as incorruptible as Voldemort is irredeemable. Harry's choices will always be the right ones, not because of his moral character but because the world itself will change to accommodate him. He can withstand the Imperius Curse, he can see into the mind of the Dark Lord, yet remain uncorrupted by it, he can unite the Deathly Hallows. Even when he actively seeks to bring pain and death to his enemies, it is somehow virtuous. Because Harry is Just That Awesome.

JK Rowling has said, in interview:

"My beliefs and my struggling with religious belief and so on I think is quite apparent in this book."

And apparent it is. The culmination of the Harry Potter series reads like the scrabbling of a Cultural Christian, trying to construct a moral framework out of fragments of doctrine she does not entirely understand or believe. Half-formed ideas about faith and destiny and redemption and death collide producing a result that is mostly simplistic, and occasionally sacrilegious.

The quasi-Christian overtones make some parts of the book genuinely incoherent. At times Harry's faith in Dumbledore is presented as almost akin to faith in God. He sets forth on his great journey, after all, knowing virtually nothing and Trusting That Dumbledore Would Provide. Indeed the Dumbledore-as-Divinity concept is a strong theme from the very start. It is very frequently Harry's Faith in Dumbledore that truly saves the day (most explicitly in Chamber of Secrets). The entire subplot with Dumbeldore's backstory is presented almost as Harry's last test of Faith.

And of course if Dumbledore is God, then this naturally casts Harry in the role of Jesus: walking amongst the unbelievers, spreading His word, facing persecution and ultimately death. A sacrifice made in perfect Love to redeem the sins of the Wizarding World.

Except that Dumbledore isn't God, he's just a guy, so having unwavering faith in him isn't laudable, it's blind fanaticism. And Harry doesn't sacrifice himself to save Hogwarts, he sacrifices himself to kill Voldemort. Hell, Rowling even admits that after book 6, if Harry looked into the Mirror of Erised he would see "Voldemort finished, dead, gone". His deepest desire is not to protect his friends, or even to live a normal life, but to kill the guy who killed his parents.

It's a mess, and the fact that it's a mess is probably the saddest thing of all. Rowling so clearly wanted to say something big about faith, about love, and about death, but all she has managed to do is communicate her own confuson.Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Books

,

Young Adult / Children

~

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Wardog

at 09:34 on 2007-08-17And obviously you have the whole sacramental thing of Voldemort receiving Harry's blood, or rather refusing the salvation contained within it... euw.

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Arthur B

at 11:11 on 2007-08-17I think you can also see attitudes towards predestination in her view of herself and her work. I was watching her original publisher on TV the other day talking about how he advised her to get a day job, because very very few people can actually make a living on children's books, and how she simply said she was very confident that HP would be successful. Which turned out to be right, of course, but there's no way anyone could have predicted exactly how much the HP books took off (and arguably they didn't become

really

massive until

Prisoner of Azkaban

). I know, I know, most authors probably harbour hopes that they'll be able to live off their soon-to-be-published novel and ditch the day job, it's human nature to be optimistic - but it's also human nature to harbour a deep-seated worry that your book might just flop. Rowling has never shown any evidence of the latter.

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Dan H

at 14:49 on 2007-08-17This is, I think, also evidence of Ms Rowling's deeply fucked up priorities. Having faith in yourself is one thing, but she had a fucking *kid* to support. You think she'd give some thought to how the poor bastard was going to eat.

Also: Fun exercise for your spare time. Re-read the chapter entitled "Horcruxes" in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It's as fucked up as all hell. It's where Dumbledore explains that Harry Potter hating Voldemort and wanting to kill him is evidence of his deep capacity for love.

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Arthur B

at 16:08 on 2007-08-17Care to summarise? I don't have the Half-Blood Prince and don't intend to read it - as far as I can tell, it's the big waterslide that dumps the reader in the sewer of

Deathly Hallows

.

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Dan H

at 16:23 on 2007-08-17Lets see, choice quotes from that chapter include:

"If Voldemort had never murdered your father, would he have implanted in you a furious desire for revenge?"

And of course

"You have never been seduced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!"

"Of course I haven't," said Harry indignantly. "He killed my mum and dad!"

"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!" said Dumbledore loudly.

And

"Imagine, please just for a moment that you had never heard that prophecy! How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!"

"I'd want him finished," said Harry quietly. "And I'd want to do it."

That's your shining beacon of love folks: an angry little man driven by pure hatred and the desire for personal vengeance.

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Arthur B

at 16:33 on 2007-08-17That's hilarious. It's like Dumbledore is dozing his way through a speech and isn't actually listening to what Harry is saying.

"So, Harry, what will you do if you defeat Voldemort?" asked Dumbledore.

"I will become an Auror and turn the Ministry of Magic into a terrifying machine devoted to exterminating House Slytherin. I will use Unforgivable Curses like they were party tricks. I will break every single rule regulating magical law enforcement in my pursuit of the Slytherin menace."

"Oh Harry, you truly are a fountain of love and forgiveness!"

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Dan H

at 16:38 on 2007-08-17It's even worse than that: he's paying absolute attention to what Harry's saying, but deep down he's thinking "bwahahaha, see how I have manipulated this boy into believing that his childish desire to lash out at Lord Voldemort is a noble and selfless act! Now he is certain to do exactly as I wish while I arrange his death!"

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Arthur B

at 16:47 on 2007-08-17Yeah. You know how I said how Harry walking to his own death in order to be the messiah was the act of a paranoid schizophrenic? I take that back. Orchestrating your own death and the death of your protege because you firmly believe that a) this will let you defeat the greatest evil in the world and b) this is how you think the Truest Love works is the act of a paranoid schizophrenic megalomaniac.

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lessofthat

at 01:04 on 2007-08-28If only it were. It sounds more to me like the act of a man with no discernible personality traits whatsoever. I wonder how the books would read if you quietly ctrl-H'ed every instance of the word 'destiny' with the word 'plot'.

Hemmens, you've skewered the woman precisely and with brio, and you deserve applause, but how in the name of fuck was all this - except the ugly suicide cult business you mention in the previous piece - not visible from the downslope of book 3?

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Arthur B

at 09:26 on 2007-08-28I think people still had some faith that Rowling would pull off some brilliant plot twist and the series wouldn't go in the direction that it was obviously going, and in fact did. To be fair, for the first four books she was able to surprise me with the endings - I didn't expect Bloke With Turban to have Lord Voldemort pasted to the back of his head, I didn't expect that Tom Riddle was anything other than a horrible sneak called Tom Riddle, I hadn't guessed that the Goblet of Fire would be a teleportation trap. The third book is the best example of this, where the climactic encounter with Sirius Black you're expecting is still fifty-odd pages away happens early, before our heroes are even slightly ready.

Book 5, conversely, is pretty much devoid of surprises. In books 1-4 the titular thing - the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Prisoner of Azkaban, the Goblet of Fire - is a mysterious object, place or person which is the key to the mystery the book covers. The Order of the Phoenix, conversely, is carefully explained early on in book 5 and isn't really especially relevant or important.

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lessofthat

at 10:57 on 2007-08-28Even her critics admit that Rowling does a good plot, but her creepy ideology and incoherent philosophy - her apparent belief that moral goodness is something you're born to, like the aristocracy, or that happens to you, like celebrity - has been visible for years.

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Arthur B

at 11:41 on 2007-08-28True, but until now people could always console themselves with the possibility that the whole goodness-by-selection deal was meant to be a Big Lie which was going to be exposed in the last book. In fact, the bit in

Deathly Hallows

where Harry struggles with the new facts he knows about Dumbledore could have been an excellent opportunity for Harry's worldview to be seriously challenged, but Rowling squandered the opportunity by having Harry's worldview be the correct one all along.

There was plenty of reason for bile and invective to be thrown in Rowling's general direction after books 5 and 6, and several decent causes for complaint after 4. I think the reason the flood has happened now, as opposed to earlier, is that with the publication of book 7 there is now no opportunity for Rowling to redeem the series.

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Wardog

at 15:00 on 2007-08-28I'm not actually sure all this stuff *has* been visible; it's been *there* but that's not quite the same thing. A lot of people (self included, at least until 6) assumed it was all building up into something quite dark and interesting. And don't we feel like idiots now.

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lessofthat

at 16:05 on 2007-08-28The more interesting question then is "what rendered it invisible?"

What surprises me is that everyone here dissing Rowling seems to have reached the same conclusions as I did, and articulated them rather better than I ever managed to, but inexplicably read all the way to the end before doing so. What dazzled you in the meantime? Was it just the plot, or were there promises of complexity in Harry and his gang that I overlooked?

I'd particularly like to know because I might then be able to reverse-engineer some kind of cure and inject it into the friend who told me last week '[book 7] is a fucking triumph and we're lucky to have her'. Or at least understand what the hell's going on with that.

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Arthur B

at 16:24 on 2007-08-28For my part, I was assuming (until book 5) that Rowling was going to pull the same start with the overarching plot of the series that she did with books 1-4 - specifically, try her hardest to trick the reader into thinking that a particular thing was going to happen, and then pull the rug out from under them. Sure, it was pretty obvious that we were going to have a ludicrous final battle in Hogwarts between Harry and Voldemort, and that Harry would prove to be the Chosen One by virtue of his amazing feat of surviving to his first birthday, but in the early Potter books whenever something's

that

obvious it usually isn't true.

Rowling's a one-trick pony, but she's pretty good at the narrative misdirection trick. It's why you had fans suggesting with a straight face that Dumbledore was actually Ron from the future; people realise that Rowling often throws out sudden plot twists, especially when the plot seems to be fairly straightforward, and the fans had plenty of fun coming up with convoluted ideas of what would happen at the conclusion.

Rowling's biggest misdirection was tricking people into thinking that the things which were obviously going to transpire in the HP series would not, in fact, come to pass.

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empink

at 03:32 on 2007-08-29@lessofthat

I think that sometimes, you just don't *see* the bad points of a book for whatever reason. Everyone I know can speak to hating or at least disliking a book that they loved a while ago- it's the same sort of thing at work, or at least the same set of forces. For some reason, you may just want to enjoy a book so badly that you ignore its rough corners. Or you aren't yet adept at recognising those rough corners yet, so they pass you by. Or you weren't really paying much attention, and everything seems all right to your friends, and everything seems all right in (faulty) hindsight, so you jump at the next chance to read more from the same author.

All of that is far, far more pronounced when there is a lot of strong emotion sloshing around about a book or story or creative endeavour. You're either caught up in the hype to some extent, invest in it and suddenly realise it matters to you because your investment in it feels a lot sillier if it doesn't matter to you, or you're not and you wonder why the hell everyone's losing their heads over the whole thing.

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Wardog

at 21:17 on 2007-08-29Agreed, empink.

The first three books, at least, have advantages to balance their disadvantages. They're not great literature (but then, what is?) but they're reasonably well-written, tautly plotted, genuinely amusing and occasionally, as Arthur points out above, quite surprising. I remember being quite startled that Snape wasn't, in fact, the bad guy of book 1 and I was quite impressed at the rather morally complex position he occupied in what was obviously a children's a book: at that stage in the game, he's good but not nice which is interesting for a children's book.

Also, as empink observes, the problems aren't really pronounced enough to add up to anything coherently problematic. Dan could never have written this article based off the first few books. I remember Harry seemed rather bland but nobody cared - he was a hero and heroes are meant to Save The World not be interesting and they were plenty of nice secondary characters to shine well when set against Harry's lack of personality. And the fact that Snape *wasn't* the bad guy seemed to suggest that Slytherin - despite the bad press - weren't basically evil, again suggesting a potentially morally layered universe. As the books progresses the houses, for example, become more and more simplified. I always thought well of the potrayal of Cedric Diggory (from book VI). I mean, he's a Hufflepuff, but he's clever AND brave AND abmitious. I always thought that might be trying to say something worthwhile.

Of course it wasn't.

Also the later books are all about shutting down avenues of interpretation - the early books are a glorious free-for-all. Because they're not sprawling information dumps, the glimpses of the world they offer are subtle and intriguing - perhaps it's just evidence of how lame we are but we used to spend hours discussing Harry Potter in the pub, wondering what this and that meant, and what was going to happen, and who such and such a character was.

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Arthur B

at 22:11 on 2007-08-29Slytherin is a particularly good example, actually. From the very beginning, Rowling has been adamant that the Slytherins aren't all evil. The internal evidence of the books seems to correspond with that, right up until the end when whoosh! Basically every Slytherin student and teacher turns Quisling and helps the Death Eaters stomp all over Hogwarts. The one exception is Snape, and it's notable that at the very end Harry names his kid after Snape because of Snape's courage - the Griffindor virtue, not traditionally anything to do with Slytherin.

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lessofthat

at 10:23 on 2007-08-30Fair enough. Looking back, I can remember that sense that though the first three were flawed, there was something a bit different about them; the Slytherins had that aristocracy-of-hell feel that old guard Tories like Heseltine do (they may be scum, but they're engaging scum and you know where you are with them); Snape was, as Kyra says, not bad but not nice. I remember even being faintly impressed that Rowling knew what colour a philosopher's stone would be, but that she didn't feel the need to regurgitate all the matching alchemical background. It suggested she'd bothered to do the research but wore it lightly.

I wasn't that impressed though. I also remember reading a quote by some publishing type on the back of the first book way back in like '98, to the effect that future generations of children will talk about Diagon Alley the way past ones talked about the Hundred Acre Wood or, I don't know, Byker Grove or something. I thought that was ridiculous hyperbole. I suppose that's why he's a publishing type and I'm not, because how wrong was I.

@empink. The hype and social enthusiasm bypassed me, largely for reasons of grumpiness I suppose. So that's a powerful inoculating factor too.

Again, I guess that Harry's abject blandness was less apparent in his pre-teenage years. I don't really understand children, so absence of personality in them is less troublesome. I imagine that's true of other people too.

"the problems aren't really pronounced enough to add up to anything coherently problematic." I still disagree - I think the Choosing Hat alone is a particularly repellent embodiment of the English class system - but I think I have a better idea of why bright, sane people were distracted enough not to be bothered.

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Arthur B

at 13:16 on 2007-08-30On Harry's personality: half the reason book 5 lost me was that Harry became a repugnant, grumpy teenager. He was a well-observed repugnant teen, and I can just about barely remember what it was like being one myself, but there's a reason most people don't want to hang out with such oiks once they get over puberty, and that's because they're completely awful to be around.

In the earlier books his main personality trait was utter confusion and occasional amazement and wonder when regarding the world he'd been thrust into, which worked nicely with his role as the character we see the world through. It's a good device for the first three-or-so books, but it couldn't have been maintained for the entire series - nobody would have bought it if Rowling had tried to have Harry still be completely bowled over by the awesomeness of the wizarding world when he's lived in it for over half a decade - but it's a crying shame she didn't have anything particularly good to replace it with.

Re: the Sorting Hat - in the early books, I could accept the Sorting Hat as being a nice pastiche of the apparently arbitrary nature kids get assigned to classes and houses in secondary school. I could convince myself that the Hat essentially took a quick look at the students' personalities and flung them into whichever House seemed to have the most suitable internal culture for them, and the different characters of the Houses were a result of a self-perpetuating internal culture that the Hat just reinforced. It eventually became brutally apparent that the Hat is essentially a living filter for the Elect, and that being chosen as Gryffindor by the Hat is essentially an absolute vote of confidence in your moral integrity, but it took a while; again, it wasn't until book 5 that I realised that we'd never seen

one

single person who didn't fit in perfectly in their House, and

come on

: just because you're hard-working or brave or ambitious at 11 doesn't mean that's still going to be the case when you're 15.

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empink

at 13:19 on 2007-08-30@lessofthat I don't really understand children, so absence of personality in them is less troublesome. I imagine that's true of other people too.

SO TRUE.

I still disagree - I think the Choosing Hat alone is a particularly repellent embodiment of the English class system

That's what I would have said after reading it. I can't remember how many times I wanted to point at JKR's treatment of the women in her book (married, had babies, or wanted to, or died, or died regardless, or were ugly, unsexy and old) and ask people what they thought was up with THAT. Then again, I remember how much less that would have pinged me a year or two ago, when I was still supposedly not a feminist. Snape's "I see no difference" feels particularly apt in this case. Until you *do* see the difference, or have it pointed out to you in a way you can't bring yourself to ignore, you...don't. And to others who do, you either look like a huge, defensive jackass, or like Stupid of the century. And to others who don't, you are Sane McGrateful for the author's bounty. And even that's simplifying the whole thing, but really, that's how it seems to have worked in my corner so far.

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Dan H

at 00:40 on 2007-09-07Sorry I haven't commented: No internet.

In short, the reason that it took me a while to realise that Rowling was espousing a repulsive moral philosophy is that the series went through a massive genre shift between (roughly) books four and five, and assumptions which are perfectly acceptable in a boarding school romp have no place in a serious story about love and death and choices.

I always saw the Sorting Hat as being a metaphor for the cliques you get at school. The Slytherins are the privileged popular kids, the Ravenclaw are the swots, Hufflepuff are everybody else. Gryffindor - in the early books - was essentially just "the hero and his mates". There's comparatively little evidence that Gryffindors are *objectively* superior in the early books - there's just Harry's natural tendency to side with his friends. Indeed in the early books there's a fair number of dodgy Gryffindors (like Peter Pettigrew) and admirable non-Gryffindors (like Cedric Diggory and, arguably, Snape). In book five we even discover that James Potter was a bullying little shit. By the start of book six, things actually looked reasonably complex, and rather grown up. The last two books, though, took all of that apart. The Slytherins all leave in the final battle, James Potter wasn't a bully at all, he was just mad at Snape because he called Lily Potter a bad name, and we are asked to take Harry's desire for vengeance as evidence of his moral superiority.

Essentially I didn't find the early books morally repulsive, because I didn't think they were trying to make any kind of moral statement beyond "it is good to stick by your friends" and possibly "believe in yourself". The whole business with Sorting and predestination was just a convenient plot device to give the hero a set of allies and enemies. Early Potter doesn't advocate predeterminism any more than the Lord of the Rings advocates genocide.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/tjLTVHEducFb4rKDHU5DukBHtQcCbTVMEEq55v0CxV4-#5e156

at 11:32 on 2009-08-09Aw come on Hemmens, don't you think getting that level of publicity could have turned your head like it did JKR's? I don't blame her for over reaching herself and her abilities given the phenomenal publicity she received. I shudder to think what it would have done to my mind!

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Robinson L

at 00:30 on 2009-08-11

I don't blame her for over reaching herself and her abilities given the phenomenal publicity she received. I shudder to think what it would have done to my mind!

Sure it's understandable for fame to go to her head. Doesn't make the results any less execrable.

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http://lunabell14.myopenid.com/

at 22:42 on 2010-07-27Actually, in Order of the Phoenix, during the sorting hat song, it sings this line (credit from Mugglenet):

For instance, Slytherin Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him

So basically, Rowling admits even earlier that Slytherins are all racist, and therefore the bad guys. I remember this kind of bugged me when I read it, since there is definitely no relationship between being cunning and being pure-blood. And you would think since Voldemort and Snape could by-pass the pure-blood rule, they would get rid of that criteria.

But honestly, I don't see how she can get credit for complex characterization when there such sweeping generalizations about Gryffindors and Slyterins. Especially when some of the good guys show what I consider some very questionable morality (such as Harry crucio-ing the Death Eater over nothing, Dumbledore being a manipulative dick, etc.)

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http://prue84.livejournal.com/

at 23:06 on 2011-02-20I've avidly read this articol and how hell, how you are right!

I admit I'm never been Harry fan (I'm a "Slytherin" person because I feel I fell in that house - not a fan because they're the evil!), but this articole make me even less fan of Harry.

I'd also like to point out what I feel about Draco/Malfoys and Ron/Weasleys: they are basically the same, as both the families are racist but, when Draco say something nasty about Ron (usually something about being poor), he is labelled as "evil" while when Ron says something nasty about Draco (and Slytherins in general), he is still the good guy (or the Chosen One's biggest friend). What always bugged me is that Slytherin's House has some qualities (if I remember right, the Sorting Hat explain them in the first book), and yet "all in Slytherin are bad". What, why? Why there can't be bad or asses in the other houses? Why there is no Death Eater's son in Rawenclaw? Why Slytherins' students are all "Death Eater's wannabes?": couldn't be that many of them have pressures? Couldn't be that many of these families are simply acting like nobles families had done during the centuries, acting in a way while they wanted nothing more than be free to hug, kiss and reward?

I'm going totally off-topic here, but...

Thanxs for this articole! I have read the one regarding Abused Woman in the media and I'll slowly made my way in this site: too many interesting analysis. :)

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http://shrek2be.livejournal.com/

at 14:05 on 2011-12-30I am not too intelligent to say that I understand what you have writtenabove in your post Daniel.I'll try to interpret DH and essentially HP in my own little simplistic way.

The problem for me is Rowling tries to keep Harry as Jesus and then convert him back to a human . Dumbledore ideally should be the Merlin/Gandalf figure (or like GOD with Harry being the son of GOD) but due to poor writing comes across as a bad human being. who shouldn't be preaching philosophy as he still believed in the greater good with the way he treated Harry.

I haven't read LOTR but have watched the movies and even Tolkien understands Frodo has changed irrevocably because he is no longer normal that he has to go to Valinor which I guess is the term for heaven. Rowling doesn't get this part at all. The epilogue validates how naive Rowling is terms of understanding religion. Harry's ideal character growth for me would be accepting that he has never been normal.

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http://ladylazarus1027.livejournal.com/

at 00:38 on 2012-07-12

JK Rowling self-defines as a Christian. More specifically, she was apparently raised Church of Scotland which, the internet reliably informs me, has strong Calvinist influences. If this is true, then it seems that Rowling has allowed her faith to strongly influence her work.

I'm fairly sure Rowling didn't start attending the Church of Scotland until she was in her late twenties* -- at the absolute earliest-- but I can see why you wouldn't want facts to get in the way of your rant.

* According to wikipedia, she was born and raised in Gloucestershire, quite far from Scotland.

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Jamie Johnston

at 17:27 on 2012-07-13Greetings, unnecessarily sarcastic commenter! I don't know when (or whether) Rowling joined the Church of Scotland, but it's possible for her to have done so without living in Scotland. There is, for example, a Church of Scotland church near where I work in central London.

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Shim

at 20:39 on 2012-07-13A quick googling shows

this article from the Telegraph

which says she was raised as an Anglican. When she joined the Church of Scotland, I have no idea, and the Anglican church is very varied, so it's not that enlightening.

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Dan H

at 21:09 on 2012-07-13

I'm fairly sure Rowling didn't start attending the Church of Scotland until she was in her late twenties* -- at the absolute earliest-- but I can see why you wouldn't want facts to get in the way of your rant.

Thanks for the clarification. To be honest, though, I'm not convinced that there is much difference between "was raised" and "was influenced by in her twenties" and I'm not sure whether that particular detail actually has much to do with my central argument, which is that the Harry Potter books present a world in which some people are predestined towards salvation and others not.

What Rowling herself believes, or why she believes it, or when she started believing it is distinctly secondary.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 02:54 on 2012-07-14I think people are tripping up on the idea that Rowling's terrible writing is due to her being a deranged Calvinist, rather than just a terrible writer. I don't think this article really pushes that connection very hard, but I can see why people who want to nitpick for the sake of nitpicking would jump on that.

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Dan H

at 10:34 on 2012-07-14I think that's probably the case. Ironically I think the article actually argues fairly strongly that Rowling *isn't* a deranged Calvinist, and that if she was her writing would probably be somewhat improved.

The problem I have with the attitude to Salvation in the Potter books is that it superficially resembles Calvinist Election without any of the theological underpinnings.

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Cammalot

at 11:38 on 2012-07-14

The problem I have with the attitude to Salvation in the Potter books is that it superficially resembles Calvinist Election without any of the theological underpinnings.

Yes, and I'd speculate that seems like that *would* be a product of a later-in-life association with the church, rather than early internalization of the doctrine.

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Ibmiller

at 11:38 on 2012-07-14Rather hilariously, I love this article, and I am a Calvinist (who some call deranged...) Completely agree that Rowling's world would improve from theological underpinnings other than "some people who are pretty are nice and some people who don't have noses are racist."

Hmmm...the Harry Potter series rewritten by a deranged Calvinist...if I were any kind of writer, I might want to take that up as a challenge...

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 11:55 on 2012-07-14I think this specifically is what's getting people.

If [Rowling belongs to the Church of Scotland] is true, then it seems that Rowling has allowed her faith to strongly influence her work.

That implies a more direct connection than the one I got: that

Potter

and Calvinism both espouse a similar salvation-of-the-elect worldview, the difference being that Calvinists have put a bit more thought and indeed humanity and decency into their version. Their conclusions about how life works aren't the inadvertent result of an overlong fantasy series spinning out of an inexperienced writer's control.

Potter

would likely have ended up the same way if Rowling had never heard of Calvinism.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 12:02 on 2012-07-14

I am a Calvinist (who some call deranged...)

I actually don't think Calvinists are any more deranged than any other religious group. What would make Rowling's worldview deranged would be a conscious attempt to decontextualize Calvinist or most other religious beliefs into something secular, which I think everyone agrees probably did not happen.

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Ashimbabbar

at 14:27 on 2014-04-25• It's an extremely interesting and deep analysis ( not that everybody hadn't noticed, but now I have too )

• The "but of course Voldemort wouldn't repent" makes an interesting contrast with LOTR [ Tolkien being a Catholic ]. Here Saruman could really have repented ( after the Ents smashed Isengard ), it is not his 'nature' that prevents him too, only his choice ( I think LOTR would have been much better if he had but never mind that ). Gollum too could have if it hadn't been for Sam's hostility and his own reaction to it… they were really offered the choice.

• This "Rowlingian Calvinism", for want of a better term, sounds like a very good belief for the bad guys in a Fantasy novel…

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Daniel F

at 15:46 on 2014-04-25

it is not his 'nature' that prevents him too, only his choice ( I think LOTR would have been much better if he had but never mind that ).

I'm morbidly curious now...