Sometimes when Iâm sad I like to imagine what would happen in a crossover universe between Discworld and Harry Potter, and what Granny Weatherwax would make of their style of magic.
But then I think about more important things, like what would have happened if Granny Weatherwax ever met Albus Dumbledore, and I canât help but feel a whole lot of shit could have been avoided if heâd had a good clip round the ear and a strong talking to about the whole âmy hands are tiedâ bullshit that enabled years of abuse and suffering at the hands of adults in a position of authority over young, vulnerable people.
Like oh, this spell requires the bond of blood to keep him safe, all right. So that just means weâre not going to hold these adults accountable for their torment and abuse? I think the entire fuck not, Albus.
Snape is a double agent who is actually working for the greater good. All right, but that doesnât stop him from being an absolute fucking shit weasel who shouldnât be around children until he learns to control himself and works out his issues in a safe and sane manner, what the fuck, Albus.
You have an entire school system that ascribes to ideas of inherent morality when in fact this is a thing that needs to be taught? Well no wonder thereâs one house in particular that keeps going off the rails, you keep telling them theyâre evil. Tell people something for long enough theyâll start to believe you. Thereâs nothing wrong with being selfish and cunning, sometimes thatâs what it takes to survive. Teach them how to use those traits for good. As strength. My land, my home, my people (not my daughter, you bitch) how dare you try to hurt them. Teach them, Albus, you have to bloody teach them and realize that evil isnât born. Itâs made. In a thousand small deplorable ways. And it starts with treating people like things and I cannot be having with this.
Of course thereâs also the other flipside to this thought process, which is imagining Gytha âNannyâ Ogg shouting âwatcher Mollyâ as she thumps Bellatrix Lestrange on the back of the head with a cauldron, and drops her like a fucking stone. Later theyâll sit together and grieve, later there will be time to pick up the pieces and mourn. But for now there are things to fight for, people to keep alive. And people to keep from doing what they shouldnât ever have to do, so you find a way to do it for them, by hook, crook or blunt force trauma.
And because my head wont let go of this thought:
âYou always was a right little miss,â she said, taking a puff from her pipe and resettling her weight with a hefty bounce as the younger witch struggled to get out from under Nannyâs considerable girth. âGiving yourself airs and graces and such. Pretending you was too good to scrub a pot. Well, let me tell you something, Mistress Lestrange, you ainât fit for nothing no more except maybe a noose. And if I had my way that might be the end of it. But we donât do things like that no more, we donât rule by blood.â
âThen youâre weak,â Lestrange shot back, still struggling to claw her way free. âA weak, old woman with nothing left but tricks up your fat sleeve.â
Nanny puffed in silence for a few more moments, then reached up her sleeve. âAnd your wand, dearie. Walnut is it? With a dragon heartstring core? Very nice, painting it black was a bit much, but you always were fond of your dramatics.â
She pulled out her own wand, holding it out under Bellatrixâs nose, whose face went cross eyed and then wide with panic.
âYou know, Iâve only ever heard of Priori Incantatem,â she said, puffing on the end of her pipe until the pit glowed cherry red then white hot and she exhaled smoke like a dragon, âbut I wasnât about to risk it, not in front of all those kiddies. But I reckon now might be a good timeâŠâ
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