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aardvark-123 · 6 years

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Gensokyo Festival Day 19: The Faces of the Eastern Wonderland

By the time I realised the prompt was meant to be about Japanese culture and its bearing on Touhou, it was too late. Instead, here’s an essay on the unique culture of Gensokyo, exploring whether or not it’s secretly a horrible place.

Gensokyo is a land of wonders, of magic and miracles, of gods and youkai, of fairies and magicians, of tea parties and late-night drinking, of close friendships which can very easily be interpreted as romantic, of fierce rivalries which can also be interpreted as romantic, of colourful dresses and poofy sleeves, of wings and horns and tails and strange weapons. "Eastern Wonderland", they call it; a wonderland steeped in eastern culture and myths, nestled between mountains at the heart of the Land of the Rising Sun. But what is at the heart of Gensokyo itself?

One of the first things a Touhou fan will notice is danmaku. In the games, colourful glowing bullets rain down from the top of the screen. A succession of women unleash attacks with weird names like Dream Sign "Omnidirectional Dragon-Slaying Circle" and Cheap Gimmick Sign "There's No Way That Actually Hit Me, You Dirty Cheat". In the fighting games, the characters hurl bullets right at each other's faces, yet none of them suffer anything worse than torn clothes and a bruised ego.

These bullet-heavy attacks are called "spell-cards", and their exact nature is tricky to pin down. They come as fast, powerful attacks which clear bullets off the screen, or as slow, infinitely frustrating attacks where you have to dodge a deceptively beautiful barrage while shooting at somebody. They can use anything from potatoes to anchors to spinning cat-girls, and they are EVERYWHERE.

There is a good reason for spell-cards to be everywhere. Gensokyo was founded as a sanctuary for youkai, who cannot survive without the fear of and/or rivalry with humans. The youkai needed a way to cause Incidents while allowing the relatively weak humans a way to fight back. Thus, a certain shrine maiden came up with the spell-card rules, allowing grace and skill to take the place of raw power as the life-blood of Gensokyo.

And so began a golden age. Almost two hundred Touhou characters are free to cheerfully shoot one-another with non-lethal bullets. Day by day, as they face one-another on (well, hovering above) the field of battle, close bonds of fellowship and sisterhood are forged. Taverns and food stalls are filled with the laughter of youkai and Incident-resolvers after a hard day's danmaku, and everyone is happy.

By that logic, we could easily paint Gensokyo as a paradise. And why not? Everyone is young and cheerful (not to mention cute), and nothing truly catastrophic ever seems to happen. There is only one real villain, Seija, and she's easy enough to handle. So surely everything is perfect?

Well, yes. If you're a lesbian fluent in Japanese with magical powers, Gensokyo would be the ideal place to live. With good food, good company, plenty of fresh air and no danger of boredom, you'd have a marvellous time. Don't worry about youkai, either; as long as you have a few spell-cards, there won't be anything for you to fear.

Therein lies the biggest problem. Youkai NEED fear, hence they need a decent human population to be afraid of them. To provide that fear, a single village of humans, with the imaginative title "the Human Village", is secretly safeguarded by the youkai.

The humans there live in fear of the night, of the terrible demons who would (they assume) happily devour their children and put their houses to the torch if they had the chance. Few of the villagers ever get the chance to have tea parties and spell-card duels. Instead, they live in fear of the very youkai who protect them and sell them stuff at the market.

Youkai tend to be pragmatic, and their leaders terribly ambitious. Thus, as well as protecting and frightening the villagers, youkai also ply their trades while disguised as travelling merchants and court the favour of the villagers. The tengu, the kappas, Mamizou's merry band of tanuki and at least two other factions are desperate to win their hearts and minds, to the point where the Human Village is a battleground of ideological warfare. And none of the villagers have a clue that it's happening.

It is not easy to escape the simple, superstitious life of a villager. A small number of villagers have been able to learn the truth, and one of them even managed to join Reimu's gang of damsels who danmaku. However, it is just as easy for a villager to grow closer and closer to the world of youkai until they become one, at which point they will be summarily executed.

It is here that the most terrible duality of Gensokyo is laid bare. While youkai are free to maraud, albeit within reason, and powerful Incident-Resolvers are free to do likewise, ordinary humans are little more than cattle. Kept ignorant and frightened, with only a slim chance of escape from their lives as walking fear generators, the humans are forced pay for the merriment of the youkai with their own suffering.

That is what a pessimist would tell you. We have to ask ourselves, though, how badly are the villagers actually treated? Obviously, keeping a whole population ignorant and frightened should only ever be done as a last resort, but we never see any evidence that the villagers are suffering.

In "Forbidden Scrollery", we see Kosuzu living happily enough at her family's book-rental emporium. Youkai do make plenty of mischief in the village, but no-one is maimed, no-one has to hide under the bed all day because they're too afraid to go outside. The closer you look, the fewer acts of cruelty you'll see perpetrated against the villagers.

The village is not defenceless, either. Between Keine, the Incident-Resolvers and the village guards, they have enough protection to keep marauding youkai at bay. And why would any youkai decide to maraud through the village? Without humans, there can be no fear, and most of the youkai know it. That is why they keep the village safe from natural disasters, as well as from each other when they have to. The human villagers aren't just cattle, they are a vital and cherished part of Gensokyo.

One has to understand that Gensokyo is, first and foremost, a youkai sanctuary, created because the advancement of science in the Outside World meant that youkai could no longer find welcome. When humans stop believing in and being afraid of youkai, youkai stop existing, and so much is lost. As far as we know, Gensokyo is the only refuge for youkai in the world, and it's worth preserving. Keeping a few thousand humans relatively miserable is a small price to pay to keep the beauty and wonder of Japanese mythology alive.

...Isn't it? Perhaps, if I lived in the Human Village, I would feel differently. But then again, if I lived there with complete knowledge of the Outside World, perhaps I would still think it was worth it.

Or I might lure Reimu into a tar pit, turn myself into a youkai and kickstart the human rebellion. But then we'd probably consume all of Gensokyo's natural resources and ruin it forever, and Reimu would be sad because she's hopelessly stuck in a pool of hydrocarbon goo. Nope, not worth the effort of finding a suitable tar pit.

#gensokyofestival #touhou #touhou discourse #essay #discursive essay

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ailuronymy · 7 years

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hi Grey! so i have an idea that i've been slowly developing. it started out as a Warriors AU but as i work on it, it's started to move away from Warriors and further into an original idea. i'm working on a naming system now (gonna make a conlang too) but i'm a bit hesitant b/c i fear if i ever try and publish this down the road, ppl might think it's a copy of Warriors. any words of advice u could give?

Hello, Ruddles! I think I do have some advice for this situation. (It’s going to get long, sorry).

First of all, congratulations on starting your original work! That’s very exciting. Many renowned writers have written in response to preexisting stories–possibly you’re familiar with Tolkien’s frustrations with Macbeth, which surfaces in his writing through Eowyn and the ents! In fact, Tolkien drew on many, many sources of folklore and literature when creating his world and story, so you know you’re in good company.

Which brings me to my first piece of advice: you are in danger of copying if you limit yourself to only one source. No creator creates in a vacuum. Most, if not all, creators are consumers and lovers of other people’s creations, and that’s okay! That’s part of how we weave rich tapestries. Storytelling is always a social act, and sharing and transforming and reworking and re-imagining all ties into that. However, if you take your inspiration from only one source, it’s going to dominate your work. That’s when you hit problems.

The solution is fairly simple: borrow from many places! If you borrow from one place, you’re a hack and a copycat; if you borrow from dozens, you’re just being a normal writer. I’m not suggesting you steal from other works, of course, because that won’t solve your problem and is also a pretty rotten thing to do. What I’m saying is, if you’re feeling your work is too similar to Warriors still and you suspect your readers would also feel that way, that’s a sign that your own reading and creative life needs more fuel! You need to put more into yourself, find more things you love, more passions, more things you really want to write about, more things that make you angry, so that these things–and not just Warriors, Warriors, Warriors–will come through in your writing.

Tolkien spoke of a concept he called “the cauldron of story,” which you can read about in his ‘On Fairy Stories’ essay, and I find the idea deeply useful to think about in this context. The way I see it is that you (and I, and everyone who creates) have a personal cauldron that you fill up with everything–whatever you can get your hands on, whatever you love, whatever you hate–and it boils and boils away until you’re left with the core ideas that really matter to you, the things that fascinate you. It’s a process of distillation, basically, where the first stage is consuming media. The more you put in, the richer the broth will be and the more chance you’ll have of finding the ingredients (for lack of a better word) that you love best.

So if your work is only drawing from Warriors, that’s probably a good time to sit back and do a couple of things. The first thing is ask yourself if you know why you want to write an original work, not a Warriors fanfiction, and try to figure out what is unique about your story. Capitalise on the uniqueness of you, your writing style, your experiences, and your perspective! What can you bring to this story idea that no-one else can? That’s important to keep in mind and might help you find the heart of your story and your personal strengths, which, once recognised, you can use consciously to full effect.

Another thing, especially if you’re concerned that your story is too similar, is to ask if you’ve given yourself enough raw material to have great creative thoughts yet. If you’re feeling starved of fresh ideas, that probably means your cauldron needs more put in it! I’m not sure I believe in “writer’s block,” but I definitely believe that a body needs food in order to function, and our creative brains are no different. Take some time away from writing, fill up your cauldron, let it bubble, and then come back. I imagine you will find there is so much more you want to put into your story, and doing so will really help you build your own discrete idea and style away from Warriors.

(I genuinely believe that one of the best ways to avoid copying another writer too much is to be excited by a plethora of writers, concepts, styles, so on, so that they water each other down into a nice soup in your work, a basic subtle broth upon which you then do your unique thing. I’ve also found that things you don’t like tend to be the most motivating reading material: they’re inspirational, in that I spend the whole time I’m reading going, “This is rubbish, they’re doing it all wrong, I could do better than this… I should write my version,” and inspire myself to act out of sheer exasperation. If you want something done right, and all that).

Telling a story about groups of cats might make people who’re familiar with Warriors see similarities between your work and Erin Hunter’s, especially since you’ve been influenced by the series. This isn’t a disaster, though! People might also associate your work with Tailchaser’s Song or Catwings or The Books of the Named, as well as animal fiction more broadly, such as Watership Down, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and Redwall. You can’t control this association but you also don’t need to worry it too much. “Originality” is a fairly new concept in literature (introduced largely because of copyright and IP infringement laws) and it’s not singular unlike how people make it out to be, because what matters isn’t just the story you’re telling–it’s how you’re telling that story. Originality isn’t one idea that you either do or do not have: it’s created through the enormous compilation of so many “unoriginal” ideas, piled into one story together, words all put together in the way that only you can do. (Stories are original the way people are unique).

An example of what I mean is really clear when you compare Temeraire, Dragonriders of Pern, Eragon, and How To Train Your Dragon (film). These are all texts that are defined by dragon-riding but they each handle the material in their own way. Temeraire is a fantasy twist on history. Dragonriders of Pern is a science fiction twist on fantasy. How To Train Your Dragon is a goofy fantasy coming-of-age story about an outcast’s epiphanic discoveries of self and society, plus also there’s a cute dragon. Eragon is… whatever it is, I honestly don’t know. Point is, they’re all “people ride dragons” stories, but that shared concept doesn’t diminish their individuality. And they haven’t exhausted the concept either: there are so many other dragon-rider stories waiting to be told.

“Boy meets girl” describes millions of stories. “Chosen one saves the world” also describes millions of stories. Nevertheless, Romeo and Juliet remains a beloved classic, and Harry Potter has been an international phenomenon. “Cats live in a community” is the same. As long as you are telling your story, not copying Erin Hunter’s, I can’t imagine you’re going to have trouble when it comes to originality.

I hope this advice-slash-whatever this turned into is helpful to you, Ruddles. Good luck with your writing!

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alifeenrouteblog · 5 years

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Why I Haven't Been Writing Lately

First, the boring stuff. Since going full-time with my business, Tall Hair Creative, I’ve had less time. Yes, that’s a very boring reason. And it’s an even weaker excuse. But let’s just start here.

Exactly one year ago, I was one-month into my unemployment, just back from a trip to Europe, and had just received my first unemployment paycheck. That was the life. Around this time, I decided I would take as long as I needed to in order to recover from my 9-5 bullshit life. For the past four years, I had been told by bosses, but mostly coworkers, how I was not professional, I was abrasive, lacked interpersonal skills, and every time I might have hurt someone’s feelings. I had been changing for years, disguising it as professional growth. It wasn’t. I was manipulated.

My parents were understandably frustrated af when I told them I would not be diving into a job search. I didn’t want to rush into another terribly emotionally abusive job. Having done a fair amount of job searching in Cleveland, I already knew there wasn’t a lot of job opportunities. I knew there were even fewer prospects of finding an organization that I would actually like to work for and would truly accept my personality, work style, and the work I do here on this blog. Because I should also mention at this point, I had started my blog just a few months before I was given the axe; my writing on here until this point was, while still authentic and vulnerable, but pretty safe. I didn’t write about dating or sex. I definitely had not mentioned my family or past abuse. What started out as a HR consultant/executive coaching blog, quickly evolved into something much more ‘me’, unapologetically. This trajectory was happening before my unemployment, but I didn’t make the decision to fully dig into it until almost exactly a year ago.

So, to recap: May 2018, I found myself unemployed with a lot of free time, a newfound sense of peace, but also a desire to explore the demons that have been holding me back for decades. I spent my days reorganizing my apartment to something that I loved and truly worked for me, and I spent my evenings getting drunk on rose on my back patio or at the pizzeria attached to my place, furiously typing into the MacBook Air I just purchased weeks before with the entirety of my savings account. It wasn’t a savings account for purchasing a home, but more for travel and buying laptops when you get fired.

I would write for hours every night. I got into a rhythm. I started refining my writing and I felt like I was on to something. Then I started publishing my good shit. Then I started to get some really amazing feedback from readers. Mostly friends, but some strangers, either way – it was affirming. People were telling me how relatable my writing was. How they loved my openness. How my raw honesty spoke to them, made them feel less alone. And I was hooked.

I spent months doing this. Until I realized I had about 3 months left of unemployment cash coming in and I knew I had to come up with some plan to make money. This is the point when I started to conceptualize Tall Hair Creative. What I was thinking my business would look like at this point, was pretty different than what it is today. It’s gone through multiple iterations since August 2018. All of which I love. The most surprising has definitely been my selling my photography.

Another big thing I did when I lost my job was get a boudoir shoot. This was a big moment for me for a lot of reasons, which you can read about in this post. But I should mention here, that it was a turning point for me that I didn’t want to work anywhere that would disqualify me or judge me based on my sharing of these beautiful photos of myself. This photoshoot also sparked an interest in photography. Sometime in July of last year, I purchased a Canon Rebel, which if you don’t know is the cheapest DSLR camera you can get, and I started teaching myself photography. My original goal when purchasing the camera was to be able to capture pretty photos for my Instagram, in order to get more followers, and drive my traffic to my blog, which would obviously enable me to get a book deal in no time. It was all writing related. But I quickly learned that it was hard (impossible) to take photos of myself, especially if I didn’t know how to use the damn thing in the first place. In order to teach myself, I started offering free photoshoots on Instagram to anyone that would let me practice. This was one of my best decisions I ever made. I made a lot of cool friends this way and it turned out to be a great way for me to learn the art of photography. I distinctly remember texting Kate Kaput, while editing her photos and confused af, telling her that I had spent hours that day trying to learn how to edit photos, even though I needed to do other stuff, like look for a job. I followed that up with something like “That probably means I should be doing this for a living.” I was fucking right Anyway, all of that to say, I have been very surprised that my photography services were really the only thing that took off in Cleveland; and it changed the scope of my business quite a bit.

After blissful unemployment ended and my business (mainly, photography) was picking up, I stopped writing as much. Not only was it less time available, but it was less creative time and/or space in my head. I was putting all of my creativity into launching and marketing my business. To make matters ‘worse’, I was ghosted by someone I adored, and lost my interest in dating completely, which was fine, but made for less writing content. At that point, I had been really into writing about dating, and even became a top writer for Medium in the category of Love.

Suddenly, I was left with little time to write and no content to write about. And I’ve been riding that ever since. I’ve come up with a few things and I’ve reworked a few existing essays and put them up here, but as I’ve been saying for months now, I have not written anything I am especially proud of in SO LONG. Maybe six months. I’m not sure. This move didn’t help much either. It fucked up my writing and it fucked up my business. Moving to Denver, meant losing all my photography clients, i.e. the most profitable part of my business, but it also meant a total mindfuck. When I got the news from my best-friend-at-one-point/landlord, I was devastated. And when my mom said I could not move in with her, I was…I don’t even know what the word is. It’s something like almost being dead, but not quite dead, but kind of wish you were because it would be easier. Something so much deeper than depressed. I was depressed when Brian ended my lease/our friendship. But when my mom said I could not live with her, I felt my whole world end.

It wasn’t a surprise to any of my close friends that my mom said no. And they’ve all expressed, at least at one point, that they are glad I did not move in with my mom because they knew it wasn’t good for my mental health or our relationship. They’re not wrong. But that didn’t stop the life-crushing depression I experienced for two weeks after speaking with Brian and my mom. I couldn’t leave my bed. This has happened to me before, in rare instances of depression, but only for a day or two – MAX. Never have I experienced depression this bad for two weeks. I was tired all of the time. I slept a lot. Even when I wasn’t sleeping, I was in my bed. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I was exhausted by the time I was walking back into my bed. When Erin invited me to live with her, it was a god-send, and amazing, but it didn’t really end my depression. The anxiety and trauma of trying to figure out where I would live was gone. But the loss of my relationships with my best friend and my mother remained very present in every breath I took.

Moving to Denver gave me something to reach for. I now had stuff to do for something that was happening. I worked on selling 90% of my belongings. I started texting my close friends what was happening and telling them about my move to Denver, letting them know before I announced anything on social media. My dear friend, Colleen, said something that really caught my breath at the moment and stayed with me, even now. When I told her what was happening and I was moving to Denver, she said, “Aww Steph! I wish you the best and am here for you if you need anything. The mountains are beautiful and I hope they bring you what you need.” I loved that she said ‘I hope the mountains bring what you need’. I’ve always been a big believer in the healing powers of water, specifically bodies of water, and to be honest, the lack of ocean or lakes in Denver made me nervous, but Colleen got me thinking about stuff differently. I started to get excited.

I had a plan, I was getting excited, and then I went to Japan, which only made me more excited to move to Denver. It just wasn’t good for writing. I did write about my travel experiences to Japan, here and here, and an essay about dating, and the trip did give me a lot of healing and clarifying, and opportunities to write, but when I got home I had to hit the ground running when it came to the cross-country move.

I was so overwhelmed and my depression started to kick in again. In one of my greatest moments of vulnerability, I asked my greatest friend, Brittany, to help me. But not just help me like a normal person. I asked her to come over and make a to-do list with me and then run errands with me. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t handle everything I had to do, so I just didn’t do anything. Brittany didn’t even hesitate. Actually, she was really excited. When I told her exactly how I was feeling and exactly what I needed from her, her reply: “OMG YES! Can we make lists and cross stuff of as we do them?” I had never been so grateful to have such a nerd for my greatest friend. She came over, we did shit, and we started crossing stuff off the to do list. She came over a total of 9 times, in the two weeks between coming back from Japan and leaving for Denver. Sometimes just to literally sit in my passenger’s seat and drive with me do errands. It sounds simple, but I could not have done it without her. She also did really big stuff too. She packed boxes (and somehow tapped them perfectly). She dropped things off at MULTIPLE donation centers. She did so much. I will never be able to express my gratitude to her for everything she did for me during this time. Even before the moving stuff got rolling, when I was deep in my depression, she would check on me every day.

I have loved Brittany since the day I met at her; on her first day at work at Cleveland Metropolitan School District. She was so cute and polite. I was so jaded and broken by that point. Our first interaction: we were in an All Team meeting, someone (one of our terrible bosses) used a yellow dry erase marker on the whiteboard, it obviously didn’t show up and Brittany sweetly said, not quite to herself, but not to anyone specific, “Oh, I’ve never seen a yellow dry erase marker before.” No one else was listening to her, but I heard her and I snarkly responded with “There’s a lot of things here you’ve never seen before.” And she laughed, like a lot. A laugh that was real and told me we would be friends. At the very least work friends. Almost four years later, I can safely say she is my greatest friend. I tell her this often, either directly or in writing, that I’ve never met anyone like her. She is the kindest soul I’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with. She is patient with me. She asks questions before judging. She always focuses on the positive. She has never told me I’ve done something wrong. It’s mind boggling to me, because we are so so different, but other than my brother, I’ve never felt closer to another soul. She is truly the greatest. I truly hope everyone has a Brittany in their life. If not, please go find someone. And a side note – check out her executive coaching business because she’s an extremely gifted coach, and she also just got a super amazing prestigious job that she 100000% deserves.

Ok, so this isn’t a love letter to Brittany. Although, I have been trying to write her a letter for over a month now, so maybe this is the start I needed. But to go back to where is started, it’s been hard to write lately, so even though I started writing Brittany a letter several times, I couldn’t ever get through the first few lines. And even though I have tried writing Brian a letter, and have a lot on paper, I can’t seem to get it right. And even though, I haven’t even started the painful process of writing a letter to my mother, letting her know how I feel, because that might literally end me at this point (not using literally figuratively), it’s still on my to-do list. But to recap: I don’t have the time, I don’t have the creative space in my brain, and too much is going on – that’s why I haven’t been writing.

I shouldn’t say, I haven’t been writing. I have been. I have written a lot in notebooks. I have a lot of shit typed into my phone’s Notes app. I have thousands of words of shit right here on this laptop. Because I never truly STOP writing. I’m always writing. Every single day I write something, whether it’s on my phone, laptop, notebook. Here is where I struggle lately: Among the reasons I just listed, I have been having a hard time writing/publishing my writing because I can’t seem to write something without feeling like I’m just complaining. Everything that’s been going on and everything I am feeling lately, I feel like the victim and everyone else looks like a villain, and that comes out in my writing. Much of my writing has been about how other people have been shitty to me; but it’s also how that made me feel, the shitty things I’ve done, and about how I’ve worked through that. I don’t feel any of that with the shit I’ve been going through as of late. At least not when I write it and read it back to myself. When I read it back to myself, it sounds like I’m complaining. A LOT. And for some readers, that’s what this whole blog might sound like to them. But to me, and avid readers, it’s not. It’s about how I’ve dealt with shit, worked through or am trying to work through some shit, and most importantly how this is all a part of the greater human experience. Much to the chagrin of my parents, my writing has never been about putting other people on blast. It’s really not. I don’t write shit with the sole purpose of embarrassing people. But I do not let the fact that a story might embarrass someone I love prevent me from telling that story. That’s not reason alone. And where I’m at right now, with my life and my writing, it’s just not enough. I don’t have a point of view. I don’t have a message. I don’t have much to say other than bash the people that have hurt me, even if that literally means just recapping events from my perspective. It’s not enough. So I’ve been withholding my writing. Until today, when I saw my Instagram traffic data and realized that my profile views have gone down a lot lately (because I haven’t been posting anything new on the blog or Instagram) and I felt inspired to explain why I haven’t been posting much the last six months, especially the last three.

Yes, I want to tell you more about how I am adjusting to Denver. How my call to my dad on his birthday in march went. And how his call on my 30th birthday went. About how I feel about my mother and I’s relationship. How frustrated I get with my Instagram growth. How I annoyed I am that for every 10 followers I get, I lose 7. How jealous I am of people who get 270 likes on a post, when I rarely get past 40. How anxious I feel about my finances and next steps and what my goals are now. And how every day I have at least one moment of screaming inside my head, “WTF DID YOU GET YOURSELF INTO GIRLFRIEND!!!! YOU FUCKED UP BIG TIME!” YES, I want to tell you all of that. But I can’t figure out how to tell you all of that without sounding like I’m complaining, or gossiping, or just throwing people that have hurt me under the bus. That’s not my goal here. Ultimately, this isn’t a diary, it’s a blog. My only goal for this platform, which I’ve said for the last year, is to let you know you’re not alone. I’m glad I could share this, while maybe it’s not exactly how I pictured it, it’s what I needed, and I hope to god at least one of you needed it to.

You are loved,

Stephanie

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graceivers · 7 years

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Review #39 - Before Hadley

Before Hadley Author: J. Nathan Genre: College, Contemporary Romance, Criminals, High School, Sports Rating: ★★★★ Recommendation: give it a shot; once was enough Summary: Caynan leads a wayward and dangerous lifestyle that all but demands no permanent relationships of any kind. Fortunately or unfortunately, he finds himself pretty attached to Hadley, a girl who truly challenges him and begins to become his everything. But with his past and present actions bound to break them apart one way or another, Caynan’s future, the one he wants with Hadley, is one he will have to fight for.

Female Lead: Hadley was a decent character. Somewhere on Goodreads I think I saw someone say that she was annoying, but I thought the character was pretty realistic given her age and the entire situation. Nathan really emphasized the whole ‘feisty’ thing, which I personally thought was more annoying from the author and less from the actual character. Like the world ‘feisty’ was used way too many times, even when it was her nickname. But that quality—strength and not giving in so easily to anyone—was what I liked best about Hadley. And it was consistent throughout the book. She made the guy work for her attention and care, for her forgiveness and trust. She rightfully cut things off when she was supposed to. Her conflicted feelings after Caynan/Conner reappeared in her life were warranted. I think Hadley did an excellent job handling everything that was thrown at her from the get-go. She kind of lost herself a bit after she had been burned, but that was to be expected. I think she asked all the right questions, said all the right things, and made the right decisions for the most part. Male Lead: From this point in the review forward, I’m going to refer to the male lead as Conner because that’s his real name. I will also take this moment to ponder just why Nathan chose such an… unorthodox alias for him to use for more than half of the book. Caynan? Seriously? What? I’m assuming that Nathan wanted to get creative with the spelling of Cainan? But even then, why this name? I don’t get it. Cainan means possessor or purchaser so says Google. This guy was most certainly not purchasing anything when he was going by that name.

Anywho, Conner was a very interesting character. Did I like what he was doing, stealing? No. Did I blame him? Not exactly given he was still under the guardianship and influence of his father. Did I think his feelings for Hadley were genuine? Yes. Did I think he deserved forgiveness? Yes. Did I think he deserved the ending he got in this book? No. I will get into that last part in the next section, but overall, I would say that Conner was in a super bad situation with little if any options and ultimately paid the price for his thievery. Hadley’s mother made an interesting point when she said, “He didn’t kill anyone. He made a mistake.” This is not to make light of his crimes, but the woman might have a point. Conner served his time and fully intended to right his life. There was that one point where he purposely provoked Hadley’s then boyfriend, Jake, so she would leave him for Conner, and I wasn’t fond of that for the exact reasons Hadley wasn’t. But overall, Conner did turn around his life and more or less redeemed himself. Plot & Writing: To be honest, I started reading Before Hadley and thought I wasn’t going to like it. But I pushed forth and actually found myself invested in the storyline and the characters. I mean, considering my rating above, the book wasn’t the best of the best, but I certainly came around to it. I thought Nathan did a good job of keeping the characters real and grounded, evoking the right kinds of emotions at the right time, pushing the characters for some self-reflection, as well as exploring the grander issue of love and trust and forgiveness as one.

I admit, a part of the reason I was skeptical at first was because the book opened and was set in high school for the good long first half of it all. I am no longer in my teen years, so I have sometimes purposely avoided reading things with stories and characters set in high school. Well, I mean, sometimes books with college students and even adults have characters acting like teenagers, but to have a lot of the storyline set actually in high school often creates a tone for me that screams immature and irrational. Fortunately, that was not the case with this book. Both Hadley and Conner acted very maturely given their respective circumstances. I also questioned at first why Nathan would set them in high school when I thought the story could have been transposed into a college setting without a problem, but I believe the decision to start out in high school was justified given some time skips and individual character development needs.

Speaking of time skips, wow, that three years later part surprised me. I honestly had no idea what to expect and how Nathan was going to handle the fallout and future reconciliation between Hadley and Conner. At one point, I briefly but genuinely thought that maybe they weren’t going to end up together. Alas, of course they did. But seriously, when I saw ‘Part Two’ pop up, my initial reaction was YIKES. From previous experience, a pointed section called part two usually isn’t a good sign. And there were certainly pros and cons of skipping three years from the time Conner was arrested and imprisoned to when he walked. Obviously, it made sense that we skipped those years since there was no interaction between the main leads, which was kind of the point of the story. Also, not much action can happen while he’s in prison, so, yes, I understand the reasoning behind this decision. However, I think when Nathan entirely skipped those three years, we lost some of the opportunity to show how much Conner had changed and what prison time had done to him. This was mostly revealed through his letters and subsequent explanations to Hadley, but I personally would’ve liked to seen at least little snippets from that time to bridge the big three year gap.

I won’t say too much about the whole love, trust, and forgiveness thing because I could probably write a whole essay on that, and that’s not what we’re here to read about. I will just say that Hadley was right when she told Conner to ask if she could forgive him over did she forgive him. And you could tell that resonated a lot with Conner, especially when he saw his father for the first time in years. Did I believe Hadley should take her time in forgiving Conner? Absolutely. Did I believe that she would get there? Yes. The best thing that Nathan did regarding this topic was to keep Hadley level-headed and honest by revealing that she could and wanted to and was getting there but not making it so instant that readers would recoil and grimace at a quick turnaround.

And now, let’s talk a bit about that ending. It was too neat for me. Again, did I believe that Conner deserved Hadley’s forgiveness and her love for that matter? Yes. But then we got this epilogue, and I was just like… too neat. Yes, I wanted a happy ever after for the couple, but I didn’t think it should’ve been as perfect as Nathan wrote. I love Conner realizing his one true dream is being with Hadley; I did not love Conner being an ex-con and getting everything he could ever imagine and being the first round draft pick for the major leagues. That out of just about everything in the book was the most unrealistic part to me. Conner deserves forgiveness. Conner, however, does not necessarily deserve this kind of epic turnaround. Or really, I’m just annoyed that things suddenly worked out so well for him because he’s an attractive and athletic male. I mean, what about Hadley? Doesn’t she deserve more of a happy ending and a great art career? Come on, now. The girl deserves way more than him. Secondary Characters & Plots: I actually found the secondary characters pretty bland. I mean, I liked that Hadley had girlfriends, but nothing about any of them stood out to me. Even when they were there for her, nothing about the other girls interested me. She had nice parents, though; I enjoyed that, Nathan showing the two different parenting styles in Hadley’s folks versus Conner’s dad.

Oh, and Jake, Hadley’s boyfriend before Conner came back into her life. Uh, he actually wasn’t that bad. Again, not around for a whole lot for me to get a true grip on his character, but I actually think he had all the right intentions. He said he was all in with Hadley even though he was missing some key information about her, but I don’t entirely blame him for that. Alas, of course his character was always going to be temporary.

The little baseball subplot. Eh… I was happy that Conner had a passion and something that he loved and was good at. But as I said above, the ending was too neat for me, and I don’t personally think that he should’ve gotten such a great opportunity in sports while Hadley’s art was put on the back burner. Favorite Part(s): Conner laying everything out on the line for Hadley. That moment when he was kind of giving up on Hadley and said he was going to leave her alone because he couldn’t do the chase anymore if she was never going to forgive him or give him anything, I thought that was so raw and genuine. And then Conner again telling Hadley how he wouldn’t stop if he was given the chance, how he was going to prove to her that he was the right guy for Hadley no matter how long it took. He told her he loved her; he told her all the reasons why he loved her. That was hands down the most touching and best part of the book. Final Thoughts: Don’t count this one out. Seriously, I went into this thinking one thing and finished the book thinking something entirely different. Before Hadley surprised me in a really good way. Despite the younger age and setting of the book, Nathan actually touched upon some deeper and more mature issues. The characters were pretty realistic, and I enjoyed the amount of growth we saw from them. So at least put Before Hadley on your to-read list, and maybe, eventually, if and when you get to it, you’ll see that the book is much more than just another YA/NA romance novel.

#book: before hadley #author: j. nathan #genre: college #genre: contemporary romance #genre: criminals #genre: high school #genre: sports #rating: four stars

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The Leaky Cauldron

It took Harry several days to get used to his strange new freedom. Never before had he been able to get up whenever he wanted or eat whatever he fancied. He could even go wherever he pleased, as long as it was in Diagon Alley, and as this long cobbled street was packed with the most fascinating wizarding shops in the world, Harry felt no desire to break his word to Fudge and stray back into the Muggle world. Harry ate breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he liked watching the other guests: funny little witches from the country, up for a day's shopping; venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today; wild-looking warlocks; raucous dwarfs; and once, what looked suspiciously like a hag, who ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woolen balaclava. After breakfast Harry would go out into the backyard, take out his wand, tap the third brick from the left above the trash bin, and stand back as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall. Harry spent the long sunny days exploring the shops and eating under the brightly colored umbrellas outside cafes, where his fellow diners were showing one another their purchases ("It's a lunascope, old boy -- no more messing around with moon charts, see?") or else discussing the case of Sirius Black ("Personally, I won't let any of the children out alone until he's back in Azkaban"). Harry didn't have to do his homework under the blankets by flashlight anymore; now he could sit in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, finishing all his essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings, gave Harry free sundaes every half an hour. Once Harry had refilled his money bag with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he had to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot at once. He had to keep reminding himself that he had five years to go at Hogwarts, and how it would feel to ask the Dursleys for money for spellbooks, to stop himself from buying a handsome set of solid gold Gobstones (a wizarding game rather like marbles, in which the stones squirt a nasty-smelling liquid into the other player's face when they lose a point). He was sorely tempted, too, by the perfect, moving model of the galaxy in a large glass ball, which would have meant he never had to take another Astronomy lesson. But the thing that tested Harry's resolution most appeared in his favorite shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies, a week after he'd arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Curious to know what the crowd in the shop was staring at, Harry edged his way inside and squeezed in among the excited witches and wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium, on which was mounted the most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life. "Just come out -- prototype --" a square-jawed wizard was telling his companion. "It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" squeaked a boy younger than Harry, who was swinging off his father's arm. "Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "And they're favorites for the World Cup!" A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he was able to read the sign next to the broom: ** THE FIREBOLT ** THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART RACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND-NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM. PRICE ON REQUEST. Price on request...Harry didn't like to think how much gold the Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything as much in his whole life -- but he had never lost a Quidditch match on his Nimbus Two Thousand, and what was the point in emptying his Gringotts vault for the Firebolt, when he had a very good broom already? Harry didn't ask for the price, but he returned, almost every day after that, just to look at the Firebolt. There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. He went to the Apothecary to replenish his store of potions ingredients, and as his school robes were now several inches too short in the arm and leg, he visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and bought new ones. Most important of all, he had to buy his new schoolbooks, which would include those for his two new subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Harry got a surprise as he looked in at the bookshop window. Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind the glass that held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively. Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and consulted it for the first time. The Monster Book of Monsters was listed as the required book for Care of Magical Creatures. Now Harry understood why Hagrid had said it would come in useful. He felt relieved; he had been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help with some terrifying new pet. As Harry entered Flourish and Blotts, the manager came hurrying toward him. "Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get your new books?" "Yes," said Harry, "I need --" "Get out of the way," said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the Monster Books' cage. "Hang on," said Harry quickly, "I've already got one of those." "Have you?" A look of enormous relief spread over the manager's face. "Thank heavens for that. I've been bitten five times already this morning --" A loud ripping noise rent the air; two of the Monster Books had seized a third and were pulling it apart. "Stop it! Stop it!" cried the manager, poking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility -- cost a fortune, and we never found them...Well...is there anything else I can help you with?" "Yes," said Harry, looking down his booklist, "I need Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky." "Ah, starting Divination, are you?" said the manager, stripping off his gloves and leading Harry into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small table was stacked with volumes such as Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul. "Here you are," said the manager, who had climbed a set of steps to take down a thick, black-bound book. "Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods -- palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails." But Harry wasn't listening. His eyes had fallen on another book, which was among a display on a small table: Death Omens -- What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming. "Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you," said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. "You'll start seeing death omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone to death." But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book; it showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. It looked oddly familiar... The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands. "Anything else?" he said. "Yes," said Harry, tearing his eyes away from the dog's and dazedly consulting his booklist. "Er -- I need Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three." Harry emerged from Flourish and Blotts ten minutes later with his new books under his arms and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, hardly noticing where he was going and bumping into several people. He tramped up the stairs to his room, went inside, and tipped his books onto his bed. Somebody had been in to tidy; the windows were open and sun was pouring inside. Harry could hear the buses rolling by in the unseen Muggle street behind him and the sound of the invisible crowd below in Diagon Alley. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the basin. "It can't have been a death omen," he told his reflection defiantly. "I was panicking when I saw that thing in Magnolia Crescent...It was probably just a stray dog...." He raised his hand automatically and tried to make his hair lie flat "You're fighting a losing battle there, dear," said his mirror in a wheezy voice. As the days slipped by, Harry started looking wherever he went for a sign of Ron or Hermione. Plenty of Hogwarts students were arriving in Diagon Alley now, with the start of term so near. Harry met Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow Gryffindors, in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the Firebolt; he also ran into the real Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, forgetful boy, outside Flourish and Blotts. Harry didn't stop to chat; Neville appeared to have mislaid his booklist and was being told off by his very formidable-looking grandmother. Harry hoped she never found out that he'd pretended to be Neville while on the run from the Ministry of Magic. Harry woke on the last day of the holidays, thinking that he would at least meet Ron and Hermione tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express. He got up, dressed, went for a last look at the Firebolt, and was just wondering where he'd have lunch, when someone yelled his name and he turned. "Harry! HARRY!" They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor -- Ron looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him. "Finally!" said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you'd left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin's, and --" "I got all my school stuff last week," Harry explained. "And how come you knew I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron?" "Dad," said Ron simply. Mr. Weasley, who worked at the Ministry of Magic, would of course have heard the whole story of what had happened to Aunt Marge. "Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?" said Hermione in a very serious voice. "I didn't mean to," said Harry, while Ron roared with laughter. "I just -- lost control." "It's not funny, Ron," said Hermione sharply. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled." "So am I," admitted Harry. "Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested." He looked at Ron. "Your dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?" "Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it?" shrugged Ron, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!" Hermione nodded, beaming. "Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things." "Excellent!" said Harry happily. "So, have you got all your new books and stuff?" "Look at this," said Ron, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and opening it. "Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we've got all our books --" He pointed at a large bag under his chair. "What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two." "What's all that, Hermione?" Harry asked, pointing at not one but three bulging bags in the chair next to her. "Well, I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I," said Hermione. "Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies --" "What are you doing Muggle Studies for?" said Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. "You're Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!" "But it'll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view," said Hermione earnestly. "Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" asked Harry, while Ron sniggered. Hermione ignored them. "I've still got ten Galleons," she said, checking her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present." "How about a nice book? said Ron innocently. "No, I don't think so," said Hermione composedly. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and you've got Errol --" "I haven't," said Ron. "Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." He pulled his pet rat out of his pocket. "And I want to get him checked over," he added, placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him." Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers. "There's a magical creature shop just over there," said Harry, who knew Diagon Alley very well by now. "You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl." So they paid for their ice cream and crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie. There wasn't much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited, examining the cages. A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that were humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that were playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails. The double-ended newt wizard left, and Ron approached the counter. "It's my rat," he told the witch. "He's been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt." "Bang him on the counter," said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket. Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better took. Like nearly everything Ron owned, Scabbers the rat was secondhand (he had once belonged to Ron's brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked especially woebegone. "Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?" "Dunno," said Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother." "What powers does he have?" said the witch, examining Scabbers closely. "Er --" The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers. The witch's eyes moved from Scabbers's tattered left ear to his front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted loudly. "He's been through the mill, this one," she said. "He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Ron defensively. "An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these --" She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again. Ron muttered, "Show-offs." "Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic," said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle. "Okay," said Ron. "How much -- OUCH!" Ron buckled as something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers. "NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch, but Scabbers shot from between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, and then scampered for the door. "Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry followed. It took them nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who had taken refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffed the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightened up, massaging his head. "What was that?" "It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger," said Harry. "Where's Hermione?" "Probably getting her owl." They made their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reached it, Hermione came out, but she wasn't carrying an owl. Her arms were clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat. "You bought that monster?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" said Hermione, glowing. That was a matter of opinion, thought Harry. The cat's ginger fur was thick and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it had run headlong into a brick wall. Now that Scabbers was out of sight, however, the cat was purring contentedly in Hermione's arms. "Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" said Ron. "He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" said Hermione. "And what about Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?" "That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him." "Wonder why," said Ron sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron. They found Mr. Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet. "Harry!" he said, smiling as he looked up. "How are you?" "Fine, thanks," said Harry as he, Ron, and Hermione joined Mr. Weasley with their shopping. Mr. Weasley put down his paper, and Harry saw the now familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up at him. "They still haven't caught him, then?" he asked. "No," said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far." "Would we get a reward if we caught him?" asked Ron. "It'd be good to get some more money --" "Don't be ridiculous, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back, You mark my words." At that moment Mrs. Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts; the newly elected Head Boy, Percy; and the Weasleys" youngest child and only girl, Ginny. Ginny, who had always been very taken with Harry, seemed even more heartily embarrassed than usual when she saw him, perhaps because he had saved her life during their previous year at Hogwarts. She went very red and muttered "hello" without looking at him. Percy, however, held out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, "Harry. How nice to see you." "Hello, Percy," said Harry, trying not to laugh. "I hope you're well?" said Percy pompously, shaking hands. It was rather like being introduced to the mayor. "Very well, thanks --" "Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy --" "Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn. "Absolutely spiffing." Percy scowled. "That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley. "Mum!" said Fred, as though he'd only just spotted her and seizing her hand, too. "How really corking to see you --" "I said, that's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, depositing her shopping in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silver badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said, swelling with pride. "And last," Fred muttered under his breath. I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two prefects." "What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life." Ginny giggled. "You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Gunny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner..." He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. "We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told Harry. "But Mum spotted us." ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡*¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡*¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡*¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡*¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡*¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡* Dinner that night was a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlor, and the seven Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione ate their way through five delicious courses. "How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred as they dug into a sumptuous chocolate pudding. "The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley. Everyone looked up at him. "Why?" said Percy curiously. "It's because of you, Perce," said George seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them--" "-- for Humongous Bighead," said Fred. Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorted into their pudding. "Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?" Percy asked again, in a dignified voice. "Well, as we haven't got one anymore," said Mr. Weasley, "and as I work there, they're doing me a favor..." His voice was casual, but Harry couldn't help noticing that Mr. Wesley's ears had gone red, just like Ron's did when he was under pressure. "Good thing, too," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Do you realize how much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle Underground...You are all packed, aren't you?" "Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," said Percy, in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped them on my bed." "You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't have much time in the morning," Mrs. Weasley called down the table. Ron scowled at Percy. After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by one they made their way upstairs to their rooms to check their things for the next day. Ron and Percy were next door to Harry. He had just closed and locked his own trunk when he heard angry voices through the wall, and went to see what was going on. The door of number twelve was ajar and Percy was shouting. "It was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing --" "I haven't touched it, all right?" Ron roared back. "What's up?" said Harry. "My Head Boy badge is gone," said Percy, rounding on Harry. "So's Scabbers's Rat Tonic," said Ron, throwing things out of his trunk to look. "I think I might've left it in the bar --" "You're not going anywhere till you've found my badge!" yelled Percy. "I'll get Scabbers's stuff, I'm packed," Harry said to Ron, and he went downstairs. Harry was halfway along the passage to the bar, which was now very dark, when he heard another pair of angry voices coming from the parlor. A second later, he recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys". He hesitated, not wanting them to know he'd heard them arguing, when the sound of his own name made him stop, then move closer to the parlor door. "...makes no sense not to tell him," Mr. Weasley was saying heatedly. "Harry's got a right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He's thirteen years old and --" "Arthur, the truth would terrify him!" said Mrs. Weasley shrilly. "Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!" "I don't want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!" retorted Mr. Weasley. "You know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves -- they've ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice! But Harry mustn't do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him." "But he's not dead, he's fine, so what's the point --" "Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible. It's been three weeks, and no one's seen hide nor hair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we're no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black's after --" "But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts." "We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts." "But no one's really sure that Black's after Harry --" There was a thud on wood, and Harry was sure Mr. Weasley had banged his fist on the table. "Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Blacks been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: "He's at Hogwarts...he's at Hogwarts." Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that..." There was a silence. Harry leaned still closer to the door, desperate to hear more. "Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you're forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don't think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore's Headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?" "Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed." "Not happy? Why shouldn't he be happy, if they're there to catch Black?" "Dumbledore isn't fond of the Azkaban guards," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Nor am I, if it comes to that...but when you're dealing with a wizard like Black, you sometimes have to join forces with those you'd rather avoid." "If they save Harry --" "¨C then I will never say another word against them, said Mr. Weasley wearily. "It's late, Molly, we'd better go up..." Harry heard chairs move. As quietly as he could, he hurried down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlor door opened, and a few seconds later footsteps told him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were climbing the stairs. The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table they had sat at earlier. Harry waited until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Wesley's bedroom door close, then headed back upstairs with the bottle. Fred and George were crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listened to Percy dismantling his and Ron's room in search of his badge. "We've got it," Fred whispered to Harry. "We've been improving it." The badge now read Bighead Boy. Harry forced a laugh, went to give Ron the rat tonic, then shut himself in his room and lay down on his bed. So Sirius Black was after him. This explained everything. Fudge had been lenient with him because he was so relieved to find him alive. He'd made Harry promise to stay in Diagon Alley where there were plenty of wizards to keep an eye on him. And he was sending two Ministry cars to take them all to the station tomorrow, so that the Weasleys could look after Harry until he was on the train. Harry lay listening to the muffled shouting next door and wondered why he didn't feel more scared. Sirius Black had murdered thirteen people with one curse; Mr. and Mrs., Weasley obviously thought Harry would be panic-stricken if he knew the truth. But Harry happened to agree wholeheartedly with Mrs. Weasley that the safest place on earth was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened to be. Didn't people always say that Dumbledore was the only person Lord Voldemort had ever been afraid of? Surely Black, as Voldemort's right-hand man, would be just as frightened of him? And then there were these Azkaban guards everyone kept talking about. They seemed to scare most people senseless, and if they were stationed all around the school, Black's chances of getting inside seemed very remote. No, all in all, the thing that bothered Harry most was the fact that his chances of visiting Hogsmeade now looked like zero. Nobody would want Harry to leave the safety of the castle until Black was caught; in fact, Harry suspected his every move would be carefully watched until the danger had passed. He scowled at the dark ceiling. Did they think he couldn't look after himself? He'd escaped Lord Voldemort three times; he wasn't completely useless.... Unbidden, the image of the beast in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent crossed his mind. What to do when you know the worst is coming... "I'm not going to be murdered," Harry said out loud. "That's the spirit, dear," said his mirror sleepily.

#PrisonerofAzkaban #HarryPotter

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