i’m still PISSED about harry potter leaving draco to die because “oh boo hoo there aren’t enough seats in this minivan someone has to stay behind” like you fool. you fucking fool. i’ve ridden to walmart and back in an 11-person shuttle seating 17 people just bc i didn’t wanna wait to get some skim milk. are you really telling me that you couldn’t put a dude in the trunk for the sake of getting away from a collapsing island? you worried about not having enough seat belts??? people died bc of your poor minivan management skills, harry
i drafted this in a blind rage immediately upon waking up today and i may have misremembered some plot points of the Harry Potter series
The most unrealistic thing about Hogwarts is there is no overt petty drama?? There are like 5 kids per year who have to live together for SEVEN YEARS and they can do MAGIC. You can’t tell me the muffliato charm wasn’t used to talk mad shit about people. How many witches hexed their best friend’s dress robes to always be one size too small because they were fighting? And you expect me to believe that people ACTUALLY stayed in bed during curfew instead of flying through the Scottish highlands? Also the castle is designed to ruin your fucking life. Can you imagine being drunk on the moving staircases?? That’s an entire mythology of student stories in and of itself. I’m just saying, when I was in high school someone locked and duct taped a car alarm into a locker and then set it off for two hours straight and I’m 95% sure he wasn’t even a wizard
I love how literally 99% of the comments on this post are like “Yeah but it’s written from Harry’s perspective and boy is fuckin stupid”
all right. so. this is a Harry Potter AU, in rambly and abbreviated form.
this is a version of events where, on the morning of November 1st, 1981, the police are called to a house in Surrey.
when they arrive, a large man with a red face and a moustache is waiting for them, brandishing a baby.
to be more accurate: he is brandishing a basket. the basket contains a baby.
he tells the police that his wife found the basket on their doorstep that morning. “Gave her the shock of her life,” he says, with a chuckle that does not seem the least bit sincere.
the police officers have a lot of questions about this, but the man does not have any useful answers. his wife, he tells them, is not in any shape to be interviewed. “she’s been poorly,” he says, “and we’ve got a baby of our own to worry about, keeping us up at all hours.”
the baby in the basket seems to be about a year old. he is cheerful, seems healthy aside from a cut on his forehead, with a crooked sticking plaster on it. he has startlingly green eyes.
there is no identifying information in the basket, except for a torn scrap of paper with ‘his name is Harry’ on it in a delicate hand.
there it nothing else to be done, it seems. the officers take baby Harry, and leave.
one of them comes back a few days later for a follow-up interview with the woman who found the baby. she seems a little fragile, and her own baby, in the next room, keeps up a constant shrieking tantrum the whole time the officer is there. “I’m sorry,” the woman says, with a brittle smile. “this has all been a bit much. I recently lost my sister, you see.”
ruby-dear archive 