B1ue

It was suggested that I start a forum topic for this, so here goes. "Like Cats and Dogs" is a Harry Potter Fanfic devoted to the minor character Arabella Figg, describing the early parts of book 7 from her perspective. Currently, this story is it, but if inspiration strikes I may add to it. Let me know what you think.

It never fails; I'm always the first person of my acquaintance to catch any free-floating strain of cold or flu virus. In fact, sometimes the first sign I have that the latest virus is loose is that I get sick again. This happens three or four times a year, and this last week. By now I've quit bothering to stop work or chores or anything really. I'd never get anything done if I let a little thing like the flu shut me down. Only once in the last couple years did I actually have to take a break, and it turned out later I'd had Hepatitis A. The reason I don't kick back is that, while I do get sick with alarming frequency, it is never particularly severe (again, excepting that time in college, and even then it was only bad the one night and next morning). Apparently, my immune system has the same attitude towards work as the rest of my mind: ignore it until this is no longer a possible option, then tackle it all in one go. Most people's seems to practice constant vigilance, but when that one strain slips in the crack, all hell breaks loose. I have asthma. Hell is not allowed to break loose. Heck, sure, but not hell. I don't want to visit that tropical destination anytime soon, and if any part of my body betrays me, it will be my lungs. In the words of Scott Adams, I had a point when I started all that, but I suspect it was not that compelling. In other news, the story I wrote instead of the anthology piece is now posted in efiction. It's a Harry Potter fanfic, but, hell, I like it. Like Cats and Dogs

I quite thoroughly botched the Khayyam story, which I've tentatively titled "Happily Ever After." Oh well. I will finish it, because I want to see what happens next more than anyone, and I can't find out until I've finished what happens this time. Next time, I'll need to write a more humorous one. I tend to write one funny Khayyam story for every serious one, but so far none of the humorous ones have been published. It's a bit sad, but oh well. "The Road Not Taken" is the next anthology theme, so I'll have that work cut out for me, but it'll be fun. On the other hand, I did manage to write something just tonight. I'm half-tempted to submit it. It's a Harry Potter fanfic, so I don't think it qualifies for the anthology, but hell. I find this small success at once invigorating and somewhat pathetic. I always do better when I react to someone else's work, but I wish that for once I could have a purely creative idea, not just a creative interpretation. Even the story I'm half-through with for Khayyam is a reaction to Bryan Adam's "Run to You."

My coworkers have learned it is best that I am steered away from real coffee. They at first, as most people do, thought my habit of drinking decaf to be a bit silly at best and counter-productive at worst. There was a time when I would have agreed with them. Of course, that was before the worst parts of puberty had really set in for me, and my body chemistry worked quite a bit differently. At that point, coffee relaxed me. Now if I so much as smell caffeine I get wired like a five-year-old that just ate all of his Halloween candy in one go. I don't notice the effect so much anymore, but the guy I get along best with at work (who, strangely enough, is that homophobic guy I mentioned a couple entries back*) threatened to make me sit in a corner if I went near the coffee pot again. There is a point to this. I had a red-eye about an hour ago, which for those of you that don't know is a cup of coffee with a shot of espresso mixed in. And that coffee? I made it what my father calls "Mexican style," boiled instead of dripped. I did it for all of those that want to see me write another entry in the anthologies, which I still have only just started. I picked a decent topic, I think, after pondering the feedback Lucy, TheZot, and a few others have given me. But I only have a week to crank it out, so I'll need all the hours in the day I can finagle if I'm to get it done in time. So when I crash and start drooling over my keyboard, know I am suffering for my art and my audience. Oh, here's a line from the opening. Not the first line, mind, but nearly. "I was coming home because my brother Satar had, fulfilling our parent's every expectation of him, managed to knock up his date the senior prom and then asked me to be his best man." *For the curious, the situation has settled itself in precisely the fashion I thought it might. He brought up golf with me, a game I detest, and asked if I played at all. I told him that only one person has ever managed to get me to play, and I was sleeping with him at the time. He dropped the conversation immediately. Since then, the comments have decreased to a frequency and magnitude I will tolerate.

Very nice chapter. You advanced most of the main plots a little bit and did it in a way that made it look natural. As always, it wasn't near long enough for me, but I'll live. I'm looking forward already to your next piece. -Gabe

As I have also had those types of jobs, I'd agree with you right up to where your friend, and the guy, reacted. Saying something like that moves out of politeness and into confrontation. I have to know someone very well before I'll take any kind of attitude out of them, unless I start it first. In that case, I'll take whatever they care to dish out, so long as they don't continue to do whatever it was that irritated me in the first place, such as continuing to provide an obstruction to service. Further, I think it is asking a lot to require a response on the part of the customer. They're paying for the service, be it service with a smile or simple efficiency. Three guesses which one I favor . If the customer is willing to play along, then yes, employees should do anything up to and (when appropriate) including mild flirtation to get the customer in a good, tip-happy mood. If the customer is not willing to play along, and is being deliberately brusque, antagonizing them further serves no purpose. I know my bosses would have preferred to get problem customers on their way as quickly as possible, as from a productivity standpoint they're hardly ever worth what money they bring in.

It continually surprises me when people, when they first meet me, take my generally sunny disposition and smiling manner as an indication that I'm also nice. This is not true. I may have been nice at one point, and I act nice when I don't have anything better to do, but I'm not terribly good at it. But people ignore the odd moments by and large, until something happens that they can't ignore. Case in point: a few weeks ago, I went into a coffee shop. I'd just done my grocery shopping, and since I'd walked there I was carrying my bags on my arms. It was later afternoon, and I was getting both tired and cranky. The barista helping the line wasn't in any kind of hurry, but since there were few customers I could forgive that, especially since the patrons were playing along. I stepped up. He asked me, lisping cheerily, "And how are YOU doing today?" I gritted my teeth around my initial response, and fired out my order at guy. He put a hand on his hip (I kid you not) and admonished, "Well, that doesn't tell me how you're doing." I grinned. He was asking for it, and I saw no reason to refuse. "Well, if you must know, I am tired, these bags are heavy, and I'm rapidly getting pissed off. That answer you sufficiently?" I let that sink in a moment, satisfied by the "oh my" reactions of absolutely everyone in the store. When their shock was beginning to ease away, I continued. "So, do you think you could give me order now?" As it turned out, he wasn't able to complete my order. He disappeared almost instantly into the back, and his two coworkers took my money and made my drink with a bare minimum of communication, except for a couple glares when they thought I wasn't looking (why does no one remember even clear glass is reflective?). I left, once again with a light lilt to my voice and a smile on my face. Now, with after witnessing incidents like that, I'd think people would know to keep me at a distance. Some do, but most attribute it to stress or a bad day, never realizing that I am like that all the time.

Edited, because after reading the comment a day later, it sounded quite mean spirited (there's another word I mean here, but I won't cuss on someone else's blog). I have no problems with that in general, but I usually want to intend it. So we'll go overboard the other way. ::pats Zot on the back:: There, there. We, the majority (if not the entirety) of your blog's readers have all been there too. We feel for you. I feel for you. Think of it as dental work. It might be painful now, but keep in mind how wonderful the final results are going to feel when you put your name on them. And thank you for reviewing my stories. I finally just made time to read them, which means I'm past due for my own painful, albeit less public, ordeal. Wish me luck!

Oh, absolutely. I think everyone needs to know this story, especially those who have ever felt envious of someone better looking.

One of my cousins used to work in a strip bar. Actually, two of my cousins on opposite sides of my family have, and a great-aunt was a whore, but I digress. The first cousin told me about how she had two coworkers, which we will call Lucy and Emily. Emily was a very pretty, attractive woman, and Lucy was, while lively, not anywhere near Emily in looks. Yet night after night, it was Lucy that had the bigger roll of tips to count. My cousin was extremely curious as to why this was, because she decided that if she ever did strip, she wanted to do it for the most money possible. So she asked Lucy, "Lucy, what's your secret?" Lucy laughed, jiggled her chest, and said, "These," she pointed to her smile, "this," and then she spun around, "and that." After laughing, my cousin asked Lucy again how she made her money. Lucy, more seriously, said, "I just go out there and get it." Immediately, my cousin understood. Emily, for all her good looks, was a bit shy. More people might want to worship her, but damn few felt the nerve to approach her. As Lucy put it, "These guys might think they want the good looking girls, but really they're afraid of them. That's why they're here. If they had the balls to go after Little Miss Emily, they'd do it for real, and not have to tip." Meanwhile Lucy went out there, raised hell, and made it clear she was having the time of her life and that every single man who put a twenty in her lingerie was a god. My cousin could see that people responded well to that. My cousin never did get up to that pole, but she did think the story was worth passing on, and I feel the same now.

You should try out Battleship with Sam. My mom routinely kicks the crap out of all her children at that game. On one still talked about occasion, she missed once the entire game, and had me beat while I was still trying to find a second ship to detonate.

I do plan to retire Khay. He irritates me as a character, in the same way that Jake does, in that he has personality traits that, while I express them myself, I hardly ever tolerate in people I meet. In Khay's case, he has a lot of angst. I don't do angst well. Now that I think about it, the only time in my life that I really had any angst to speak of was when I moved out of Los Angeles, at age nine. Not since then. Not even after getting raped, when it would have been permissible to be a little maudlin, I didn't give in. I was bat-shit crazy yes, but not angst ridden. I'm willing to bet Khay found it hard to deal with his own sexuality, tried to fight, agonized over whether or not to tell his parents, until his brother came out and made the question moot. This is mostly why I didn't use him in the summer anthology. He didn't have anything to say (that, and Rainy Day just isn't something I associate with summer, this summer's weather notwithstanding). Listen to me, talking like Khay is someone real. I need to have more sex.

It is what we call earthquake weather here in Los Angeles. Well, not quite proper earthquake weather, the wind is not as still as a celebrity's last photograph, but as we did have a small shake down here this morning, it is hard to quibble. I've noticed that just about everyone who writes about Southern California uses the phrase "earthquake weather" at one point or another, so I thought it best to get it out of my system early so I wouldn't be bothered by it in my later years. I tend not to associate the movement of ground with August in any case. For now, for me, this is the time of year that fires wait in the darkened wings for that first trembling melody that begins their dance. I have a confession to make. When I wrote that last sentence, I got all the way to the end before I noticed I used "rights" instead of "writes." These are the accidents that sometimes make fine literature, timeless jokes, but more often acute embarrassment. Lucky for me, I noticed, as I have not the talent for literature or the temperament for jokes. I think I will try to make one last Khayyam story before retiring him from the anthologies. There is one last aspect of his personality that I want to explore, that I need to make sense of, before he goes off the the happy pasture where Memorio/Mimi, Faye Ryan, "Whiskey" Jack, Cody the clairvoyant, and all the rest of my main characters go when I'm through with them. (I suspect that the poet part of my personality--that I accidentally named Jeremy--takes them to a distant haven of my mind and shoots them.) Khayyam has a love of making hard decisions, and taking the high road to his own detriment. He gets fairly maudlin about it all, even if he winds up with what he really wanted anyways, and I think it is high time that I explore that aspect of my own psyche.

In a day or two, depending on your location, I will have been a member of this site for two years. It seems strange, that it has been two years. On the one hand, since I have done so little here, it feels like it has been hardly any time at all. On the other, since I have checked this site near daily during a a time when my entire world has come apart and brought back together, so that I am now quite a different person than I was when i first joined, I can hardly believe it has only been two years. From that August to this has, for me, been a lifetime. While on the whole, most of the changes I have wrought in myself have been positive ones, but there is something that I cannot stand. I have found myself more or less back in the closet, at least at work. Mostly it is because I don't want to rock the boat, and quite frankly I haven't liked many of my coworkers, so why should I share more of my life with them? But still, it has been easier to just let people assume whatever about me, to nod and demur when people ask who I've been dating, and that makes me slightly ashamed of myself. Where's the little political animal I once was? Well, he hasn't completely left me. One of my coworkers is homophobic. Blatantly homophobic. He's not an asshole in general, but he is extremely uncomfortable around people he perceives as gay, which may or may not include me, I'm not sure. This has created a situation I find irritating. Especially since he will make fun of our "gay" coworkers when they aren't in earshot. Today I told him mid joke, "That's enough," and thankfully he didn't push it. I do wonder if he is doing this in an attempt to push my buttons, and if I should retaliate with subtly irritation of my own. I know the best thing to do, the honest thing, would be to talk it out with him and explain that I do not feel such jokes are appropriate for the work place, and maybe why. But I don't think that's going to happen. As I tend to react explosively if something irritates me long enough, the conclusion to these events should prove interesting.

Fantasy, fantasy. alright. Exsanguination (rapid blood loss) Magically animated rope The "Curse to the heart" of Harry Potter fame The ever popular Disney villain ending, defenestration (tossed out a window) Soul/essence loss Complete mindloss due to violent telepathy Implosion A screech/sudden insight that causes the victim's head to explode Torn to pieces by gryphons or any other giant creature Polymorphed into ice/salt/stone/a little bunny rabbit (which is promptly et) Poisoned apple Pretty pretty princess turning out to be a demon/vampire of some sort Decapitation Savaged by living fire Deux ex Machina (also of Harry Potter fame ) Teleported into a volcano Healer causing all the blood vessels in your head or heart to detonate And, depending on the kind of story you want to tell, ravaged by a large, uh, membered species Edit: Also, there is the standard duel between magic users. A couple of the weapons I've come up with or seen used have been: A Ribbon blade A discordant note (music that causes physical damage) A chain whip Lots and Lots of daggers (I once had a character that was a martial artist, and carried so many daggers she clanked a bit as she walked. She was also about ninety, so my writing classed dubbed her "Ninja Granny") A bit sci-fi, but a blade composed of light or darkness, or even pure sound A swarm of bugs. That was used by a wood demon. And for probably the oddest one that I've seen written, a trained to attack killer chicken.

As I've said, here (I think) and elsewhere, I am a fan of blogs. I don't care so much for the idea of me running one, but where we are anyways. I'm told it is the fate of all English majors, so I don't feel too bad about it. I am a fan of the idea of blogging, and I especially like reading other people's blogs. My favorite sort of blog is a stream of short stories, but just about any blog will do for me, provided it is well written and there is something to interest me. A good deal of the time I spend on the internet, besides trying to untangle a phrase or play video games, is check my list of RSS feeds for updates. The following the blogs I am most happy to see an update on: 1. Tom and Lorenzo. I first happened upon these two through their Project Runway satire blog, which allowed me to appreciate the show in new and better ways. I already like the show, it is one of the few programs I will actually watch, provided I remember that I have cable and what time it appears. This, their second blog, is all about the world from their perspective. Which happens to be a screamingly gay perspective, a label they not just embrace but sell as a product. Currently, my favorite feature is "Musical Mondays," where they post each Monday a "gay" critique of some musical, and how it relates to Mores and views of the movie's time. It is rather interesting. Their take on Cabaret has been one of the best so far, and according to a couple of my friends obsessed with the movie, a pretty neat and thorough analysis of both the ridulousness and seriousness expressed within the film. 2. The Devil Wears Brooks Brothers. Even wittier than the boys above, Sarah, styling herself at times as "The Devil," details her life as a legal assistant and world wide web personality. Mostly, it is about hot guys, stupid people, and bashing her bosses and coworkers (though in a way that makes them laugh, in an "I am a bit ridiculous" sort of way). These are topics I approve of and value, so I looks forward to the weekly updates. She also has the quality I find most attractive in women: a sense of self you could plow a field with. Actually, I find that to be the most attractive part of anyone, but with guys it isn't so difficult to find. I've selected one of her earlier entries to show, because it made me smile. 3. Back of the Cereal Box. Written by a guy I met in college, this was probably the first blog I started reading on a regular basis. It has neither the wit of the Devil or the topical focus of T&L, but I find it has a character all its own which I can enjoy. Actually, I link to him because links to him drive him a little bit crazy, which is fun. If you read even the first page of his near-daily updated chunk of cyber-reality, you'll see that crazy and him are well acquainted, perhaps even best friends. I will say this: his blog provides me with just enough current pop-culture knowledge that I can sometimes understand what the hell my coworkers are babbling about. That he keeps his readers updated on the latest pop culture chronicles is another thing that drives Drew crazy. This is one of his more recent posts, and one that basically states that the act I am performing, linking to him without his knowledge or consent, is an internet faux pas. Hopefully this act of linking to a post that disapproves of links to posts will not rip a whole in the universe. I will try to update this piece of sky once per my week. We'll see how long that lasts me. On another random tangent before my signature, I got a random string of melody in my mind this afternoon, and started putting words to it. I got through one stanza before I realized I was ripping off Fergie's "Glamorous." As I dislike this song, I was not pleased, though my dislike did soften a bit. But in any case, here is the stanza: Joe and I were reminiscing About the days that we'd be sipping Mint ice tea and midnight brandies Swinging on my daddy's porch ~Gabe

Speaking of education, at a wild animal park once, my family was informed that there were no remaining Mountain Lions in California except those in captivity. Intrigued, my mother asked the idiot who'd said this what crack he'd been smoking, since there was currently a small pride living a bit north of our house that seemed fond of the long grass next store. Actually, knowing my mom, she was a bit more polite about it, but that was the version I got. Anyways, the trained expert shook his head, sadly I'm told, and told my mother she was mistaken. "Oh, so its been the other tawny-colored six-foot long mountain cat leaving paw prints shaped like the letter 'M' all over my driveway," she said. With a roll of her eyes, she left. My sister, who worked at the park and had taken the day off to join my mom and the grandkids, said that my mom had said all of this in front of a small crowd, which included the guys supervisor. We think he was told to brush up on his endangered species statistics before the next presentation, but that's only a guess. Oh, and aside from your house troubles, I'm happy you are getting so much rainfall. It's dry here in LA, and your gain will eventually be our Aquafina.

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been forced to stop eating take-out for lunch and now have to eat my own cooking. As I'm a fairly good cook, this isn't exactly an ordeal, but the clean-up promises to be. You see, I can start cooking just fine, but it is a little difficult to stop once I'm going. This weekend (my job is three days on, three days off, making my weekend a roving holiday of sorts that bears no particular relationship to the weeks of other people) for instance, I decided on a whim to make just about everything I knew how to make, all at once, given the constraints of the ingrediants at hand. For instance, my spaghetti marina was quickly modified to include italian sausage, and I served it over bread instead of pasta. The beef stroganoff was just a mushroom gravy that I later added cream to, and my chicken a la king I had to guess at, since I only made it once out of a recipe book. I ran out of pots, pans, and space on my stove quickly enough, but it wasn't until the first dishes were ready to be packaged up that I realized I didn't have any containers to put them in. I do things like that a lot. In fact, something like this is pretty typical on my "Sautrday." Walmart came to the rescue, but only after most of the dishes spent the night in my refrigerator still in the pan they'd been cooked in. A least the desert came out well. Granted, it is pretty tough to screw up an apple pie, but the honey cream was a bit trickier. When it was all over, I looked at the tower of stainless steel dominating my nice kitchen, I suddenly remembered why, unless I have to impress some boy or another, I stick to eating snacks at home. That way I only have to cook, thus wash pans, once a week. Everyone, beware. This is the fate that awaits those of you independant enough to want your own place yet not afluent enough to afford either dishwasher or maid (or are roommates/partners with a very nice person who does dishes for free and possibly a little sex).

Well. Sort of. Set in the universe, but only tangentially touching on that storyline. I'm not an Anglophile; I quite like the United States, and so I have no desire to try to write about a country I've never been to when I understand this one pretty well. We'll see how it goes. As I mentioned, the first bit was up today.

I just across this on Kevin(afriendlyface)'s blog, and thought it intriguing enough to try it out for myself. Especially since, towards the end, I had an idea. IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE? So, here's how it works: 1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc) 2. Put it on shuffle 3. Press play 4. For every question, type the song that's playing 5. When you go to a new question, press the next button 6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool... 1. Opening Credits: "Somebody Told Me" - The Killers Odd choice for an opening, but okay. 2. Waking Up: "Duck and Run" - Three Doors Down Might be strange, but since the entire song is about how the singer won't duck and run, I'll take it. Especially as...well, I'll get into that later 3. First Day Of School: "Holding Out For a Hero" - Jennifer Saunders Perfect. Just Perfect. 4. Falling In Love: "Groovejet (If this Ain't Love)" - DJ Spiller Ah. Another perfect one. 5. Fight Song: "Life #9" - Martina McBride Nice. Threats. My kind of fight. 6. Breaking Up: "Since You Been Gone" - Kelly Clarkson Even better. 7. Life: "C'Mon 'N Ride It" - Quad City Djs -Shrug- Whatever. 8. Mental Breakdown: "La Tortura" - Shakira 9. Driving: "Sugar We're Going Down" - Fall Out Boy 10. Flashback: "Rock This Country" - Shania Twain This one works. It is a series of images in various places. For the purpose I would put this to, it is highly appropriate. 11. Getting Back Together: "Listen to Your Heart" - DHT I don't think I could have picked a better one if I looked through my music files for it. 12. Losing Your Virginity: "Black Velvet" - Allanah Myles This song oozes sexuality, which is why I liked it to begin with. I love it for this. 13. Wedding: "Something's Gotta Give" - Leann Rimes Not the worst choice (considering what I have to select from), but if I think too hard about it, it worries me. 14. Birth Of A Child: "Bitch" - Meredith Brooks If I raise a child with this much sense of self, I will have done a good job, I think. 15. Final Battle: "There is No Arizona" - Jamie O'Neal Good for what I want to do with it, albiet a bit depressing. Though as it is the final battle, that makes sense. 16. Funeral Song: "I Know Where I've Been" - Queen Latifa, Hairspray Soundtrack Another good choice. 17. End Credits: "Jenny From the Block" - Jennifer Lopez Perfect closing credits song. A Torna-Atras is exactly the way I'd want a story to go. Anyways, I had an idea during the course of this. What if, instead of my life, I make this the soundtrack to a character's life,a nd these songs as the chapter titles. Specifically, a Harry Potter knock off, except set in America. Seventeen chapters might be a bit much for me, but Lucy will be thrilled. I'll probably write the opening on my notebook tonight.

While I was just barely outside the ten hour watermark, I too liked the book. A lot. I must admit that I might not have, had I not been an English major in college. As it is, this book makes me swoon. For instance, I knew almost instantly that Hedwig's death, while continuing much of the rest of the book's "Death of the Innocent's" theme, was also included where it was because Hedwig would have been an incredible nuisance for Rowling to keep track of during the Horcruz search, so she either had to kill her off or show her staying with someone else, probably the Weasleys. And since she wasn't holding back with anyone else, why not an owl? I already wrote a blog post with my thoughts about some of the things people have mentioned already, but I have to say that Colin Creevy was my favorite character in the books, a lot because I had to hope for his sake that he was gay, or else he'd have had a bit of explaining to do to himself a bit later on in life (he was still Harry Potter's biggest fan, even in book 6, when they'd known each other for four years and Colin would have long began to be...distracted). I was PISSED when I got to his death, to the point I that I stopped reading and went to sleep right after. Especially since he seemed to be included simply so we could see his corpse. He was a Muggleborn, and I don't think he had been at Hogwarts all year, since the Death Eaters kicked out all the Muggleborns when they took over. However, he had one of the DA galleons, so I imagine he showed up when the Cho and the others did, possibly with his brother in tow (who would have been promptly shipped back out). My second favorite character was Molly Weasley. I knew she had it in her! I mean, she terrified an entire generation of professional troublemakers, none of whom (even Ron, at the end) could be reasonably described as weak either in character or in magical ability. In fact, the opposite was true. Only three people in her household had the nerve to stand up to her in the face, and one of them was a cursebreaker. Ever wonder where Bill got the practice? And then of course there are her older brother's to consider, "The Prewetts" mentioned in books one and five. If Moody had been impressed by their skill, and Hagrid goes as far to call them some of the best wizards of the age, they had to have been good, and it is reasonable to assume Molly isn't a slouch herself. I wasn't sure if she'd survive the experience, but I knew from book 4 that Molly would one day get to curse the crap out of someone. I started writing a fan-fiction once where a pregnant Molly defended her home from a Death Eater aunt, before I knew about her brothers of course. Rowling's version of Molly dueling is of course much more satisfying to read, but I'm happy that I got it right she'd reveal her greatest strength defending Ginny. Someone else wrote that the major theme to this book could be "second chances." I'm tempted to call it redemption, but I think second chances works better, because it is inclusive of the antics Voldemort got up to as well. I'd wondered why Madame Bones had been killed at the beginning of book 6, and the imperius curse on Thickneese explains it. Obviously, she proved a lot tougher a customer than her successor. The deathly hallows, the second battle of Hogwarts (I was dissappointed the final battle was there, until the second chance theme was pointed out to me, and I realized that though the causalties were higher this time around, it ended on a lot better note than the battle that ended book six), the ghosts, Kreacher, Mrs. Longbottom's solid support of her grandson, even Hermione's snappy reply to Ron's wish for Crookshanks (you know she'd been dying for years to pay that one back) all highlight, not redemption, but the feeling that things do come around again, and you can do better the second time if you take the opportunity. As much as the book wandered, I almost wish it had been longer, if only so we could find out a little bit more about the minor characters that someone had as their favorite. Can you imagine the scene at Arabella Fig's place, for instance? Though a squib, Rowling said Fig bred cats that, like Crookshanks, were big, magically intelligent, and able to spot deceptions. When they attacked her (for she couldn't have been spared, besides being in the Order she was also a squib and once testified for Harry, neither of which would have gone down well), whoever was sent was probably ran off minus a few strips of skin. I also wish we (alright, I) could have seen Colin fall. I will, in absence of evidence, assume he was killed by Narcissa, who would have been looking for an easy target to prove herself against so that no one would question her presence. Even if she saves Harry, and does what she does for her son's safety only, she's still not exactly a good person. This is the woman that made someone she had no business trusting (and probably did not fully trust) swear an oath that would kill him in order to safeguard her son. The only thing that would have redeemed her fully, in my eyes, would have been Draco in hiding in the room of requirements, with a message for Harry from both her and her sister Andromeda Tonks. The Malfoys in the great hall after the battle was good, but not quite enough for my taste.

Oh man is this thing spoilerific. Seriously, don't read more if you haven't read the book. I finished the seventh book yesterday. There were some things, some events in the plot that did not please me, but that was bound to happen, I suppose. The body count was impressive, and Rowling was bound to work her way someone I liked. That it was my two favorite characters in the entire series was, naturally, bad luck. Actually, I was surprised to see Colin Creevy in Hogwarts at all. I thought for sure him, his brother, and Justin Finch-Fletchy had already been killed or were in hiding. I guess he could have surfaced with the rest of Dumbledore's Army, and if so paid for his bravery. Actually, that makes a lot of sense now that I think about it. That said, Dobby's death makes me want to throw things, even if she did a better job of giving him a grand exit than she did for Colin. But for everything I didn't like, there was a dozen details that made me smile, even while tearing:Ginny's refusal to let Cho go off alone with Harry, Hermione's full-frontal snogging of Ron, McGonagol's powers of transfiguration in a duel (and the Colin in me went "Yes!"), Molly's duel with Bellatrix (outright cheers here), and, surprisingly, Mrs. Longbottom. Molly had always been a fascination of mine, because I knew she was more powerful than she acted, and that her greatest power would come when Ginny was threatened. In fact, the only attempt I ever made at HP fanfiction dealt on this topic. But I had never considered the story of Mrs. Longbottom, a woman so formidible that she raised not just her son Frank, hero among aurors, but Neville, who with Harry proved himself probably the bravest Gryffindor to don the Sorting Hat. The story of her battle with Death Eaters, her appearance and formidable support of her grandson, were impressive additions to the book. I suspect though that she didn't make it either, as she isn't mentioned again, and one would expect her to be one of the first to rush to her grandson's side in the final skirmish, and she wouldn't exactly have been quiet in the lull between the melees. I was also impressed by Rowling's deliberate tweaking of mythology. For those that didn't get it yet, Syltherin is Water, Gryffindor is Fire, Hufflepuff is Earth, and Ravenclaw is Air. I'm willing to believe that the scrambled symbols of air and fire (properly and respectively, a sword and a spear or wand) were due to happenstance, the virtues of the houses as she laid them out, and the more compelling story of the elder wand. But I think the cup and the pentacle were mixed up deliberately, when she realized what she'd done with the first two. On the other hand, the professors that lead these houses are exactly the ones that make sense: Air light charms, liquids potions, plants in the earth, and what can be more transfiguring than fire? I wonder if they let a Hufflepuff teach transfiguration to balance against Neville, for herbology must have been seen as the Hufflepuff post since the founding. Even odder (if more obscure), are the ghosts. Ghosts, in literature, are commonly representatives of an oracular tradition, usually one that is dying out. They are the ultimate stories that change after they have been finished, and are never perfect yet each time correct. Even the phrase ghost stories conjures, for most, oral storytelling. At least, that's what they are usually. Rowling does have some elements of the traditional view (it is so strong I don't think she had a choice): note that the ghost professor teaches history, and several times across almost every book secrets are held only by ghosts or the memories of the dead. But in the cases of the house ghosts, Rowling has done something a little different. To recap, the prized virtues of the Hogwarts houses are Bravery for Gryffindor, Ambition (and to a lesser extent dispassion) for Slytherin, Intelligence for Ravenclaw, and Loyalty for Hufflepuff. However, we learn in books 5 and now 7 that three of the ghosts who have been chosen to represent the traditions of their houses are ghosts at all because they failed to emulate their houses most prized virtue. Nearly Headless Nicholas, we learn in five, was afraid of death. The Gray Lady admits in seven that she acted like an idiot, and died for it. The Bloody Baron, it turns out, walks forever because he gave up his dispassion and slew his own greatest ambition. It makes you wonder who the Fat Friar betrayed, doesn't it?

To be fair, there was a little bit of a nod to the Harry/Draco thing in the last book too. In fact, if Draco had surrendered in time, I'm sure Harry would have (breifly) been put in charge of hiding the little brat. Just imagine how that would have gone down. And let's not forget the fourth book; it took the movie for me to notice that Harry and Cedric really do spend much of the book wanting to hump the other's leg. I was also greatly shocked by the number of deaths, particularly among my favorite characters. I'm sorry he got waxed, but pissed Rowling didn't even show his death or show his killer dying as well. I'll choose to believe it was Narcissa, and accept that as an excuse. I was sad that the epilogue didn't reveal more about the minor characters, but I can see why she didn't go into that detail. She was able to gloss over many of the possible deaths by not going into detail, but the fact that half of those that stayed died couldn't mean well for someone's favorite character.

Edit: Wrote this a couple days ago. Forgot to publish it. Oops. In colonial Latin America, there was a pretty extensive caste system in place based on one's skin color, and what it implied about the person's parentage. If you google it, there are some pretty specific categories, where one Black, one White, and two Native American grandparents made one a Wolf, and so on. It was also partially a breeding experiment using people and slaves. The most haunting image I saw had a little girl, with the caption (in Spanish) "Her fair face, every image of her fathers, without a trace of her mother's savagery." A "Torna-atras," the return backwards, was considered failures of the system, as Torna-atras were dark skinned children born to a light-skinned parent or parents. But ever since I could tell stories, the torna-atras has been one of my favorite themes to work with. Not in terms of race of course, because I hardly think about race, especially where it applies to me, but in terms of the way a person sees himself. For example, a few of my favorite songs: "Jenny on the Block" "Switch" "Who Says You Can't Go Home?" "Mississippi Girl" "Gone Country" "1985" "'Fore She Was Momma" All of these to one extent or another deal with the same theme, the "return backwards." The main character in the song, who is in many cases the singer themselves, is saying that they haven't changed from their roots, or in the case of the last two is forced to think about for far from her youth she has wandered. Country songs, with the inherent structure of the same event/image repeated throughout a person's life or across three different people, is naturally better equipped to deal with this idea, which is probably why they dominate the list. In literature, this theme crops up with surprising regularity, and is as often positive as negative, just like the examples I gave above. Werewolves and the concept of original sin are both examples on the negative side, while all throughout the novel American Gods, not to mention the endless of the Sandman comics by the same author, deal with the concept as a positive. People in these Niel Gaiman's stories are at their most powerful and most vulnerable when they have revealed their true selves, and their torna-atras have revealed that, diminished, challenged, and on the surface changed, in the end they are still the same beings they were millennium ago.

It could also be something that the kid did. A story I'm working on has a character that ran away from home to his college-aged half-brother, not because his mother or father were abusive or anything, but because he has a fervent hope that the local police won't pursue him across state lines. I haven't yet decided what his specific crime was (but I'm thinking some sort of possession charge), other than it has to be significant enough that Daddy won't be able or might not be willing to throw money at it until it goes away, yet unremarkable enough to not get a nationwide manhunt on his tail. As the brothers despise one another, and have a long history of despising one another, it's been quite fun to write so far. I guess I should also specify that the character is 16, and his brother is 20. In your case, the kid might have been banned from the county by court order. It happens, albeit not often in cases of people so young. In which case, his mother might have specifically sought out gay-father, despite her own misgivings and possible homophobia, as the only person who might be willing to take on her little hooligan. I guess this is a variation of "Desert Dropping," with the bonus that no one is particularly innocent (Mom, Dad, and Son all made some screw-ups to create the situation), which should up the surly factor all around by a couple orders of magnitude.