I know it’s been said but I find it so weird when people demonise Dora. The one interaction that we get with her- the REAL her- in the whole game, she is extremely patient, despite the fact that Harry is calling her in the middle of the night and asking creepo shit like ‘are you sleeping naked’. We can infer through context clues that this has probably happened multiple times before, and yet she still knows no signs of ill-will towards Harry- she just seems tired and concerned.
And it would be completely within her right to be angry at him for harassing her, as well! Knowing how volatile Harry can be, perhaps she even learned through fear not to confront him. And yet, there still seems to be this perception that, out of the both of them, DORA was the abusive one, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary! It’s not even that I don’t think she wasn’t at least slightly abusive, given Harry’s disabilities and their class differences, but what I am saying is that it was likely mutual, and that, out of the two of them, Harry was worse.
Their relationship probably got horrible and toxic towards the end, of that I have no doubt. What I don’t get is why the fandom seems to believe that Harry, as he currently is, is in any way capable of viewing the relationship objectively. There’s ample evidence that he was violent, frequently misogynistic, and that the experience gap between him and Dora was significant, and yet people still take his worst thoughts at face value. That she’s a ‘war criminal’, that’s she’s a goddess- people seem to think Harry’s deification of her is the main issue, and not the opposite; his virulent hatred towards Dora, towards ‘Revacholian women’.
It just boggles me that people are so willing to believe that Harry was the only one truly hurt- that Dora’s decision to leave was made lightly. We don’t know exactly what happened, and what glimpses we do get are filtered horribly through Harry’s grief, but they were in a relationship for more than a decade! They were planning to get married! I don’t think Dora just up and left for Mirova one day- the way the dream conversation goes seems to suggest they hadn’t been together for a while.
There are so, so many things said during the final dream that are probably just Harry’s self-hatred masquerading as Dora/Dolores- and while I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of it did come from Dora, at other points in their relationship, I think it’s pretty obvious that the final dream is meant to be a confused muddle of Harry’s memories and grief. Why else would she appear as Dolores Dei? But, while no one ever explicitly says it, I feel like a lot of people want to believe that the way things are during the last dream is how they were in real life. That Dora really was cold and cruel to Harry- when in real life she appears as just the opposite, despite what he puts her through.
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Ok so who else has fandoms where like something randomly becomes the de facto headcanon and like no everyone uses it and you’re just like when did this get popular???
Like who TF is Matheo Riddle??? Did I miss something, cause I am confusion
Like in HP James/Regulus is like blowing up and I just wanna know how and why?? I have no feelings about it one way or the other cause I’m not a marauders gen girlie but like where did this come from cause it has been blowing up.
And from that same vein Evan is shipped with Barty. And Marlene is shipped with Dorcas (who’s a Slytherin) and she’s also black now (which yay more representation) but who is in charge of this?? What fanfic influenced everyone lol I need to be in the loop. Oh and Pandora Lovegood is also a Slytherin and gay now too like when??
Or in DP all the ghosts have obsessions and cores, who created this theory, cause now like every fanfic has this theory in it which again I don’t care one way or the other but like how did it become a thing???
Same with Danny being trans that’s another super popular headcanon and I’m like cool but did I miss a meeting or something cause one day it wasn’t a thing next it is.
Add on to that HP being Indian, doesn’t effect me whatsoever like the black Hermione headcanon I get came from the play but where did desi Harry come from??
Ohhh and who decided that half of the Miraculous Ladybug fanfics will be crossovers with DC. Same goes for Danny Phantom. Why are they’re always DC crossovers and why is it always Batman like please at least give me something else I beg.
The unseeing headcanon leader: I now declare this headcanon official
Everyone else: cheering, yes woo, about time
Me a month later: why is everyone suddenly shipping Draco/Hermione/Theo
Like whoever is in charge of fandom wide headcanons I’d like to be apart of the loop please 🥺 🤣😭
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no longer mine. [g.w. x reader]
a/n: sorry i just felt really angsty and needed an outlet and sorry again for the slight angelina slander but it's not really slander is it?
dressed in a black suit and tie, he looked as beautiful as the night he claimed himself to be yours. his once-long hair was now trimmed neatly, slicked back with gel.
he was waiting down the aisle, eyes shimmering expectantly.
but not for you.
you, who was seated amidst the crowd of wedding guests, a mere name in the guest list. a whisper of his past, a bygone age. he was once yours to love, to hold, to kiss, to cuddle and just, be.
that beautiful boy who grew up to be an even more beautiful man written by the finest littérateurs, in the finest ink.
you once counted down for the day you'd see him in a suit and tie, where he'd wait for you who'd be dressed in all white.
the gods gave you what you wished for; he was delectable in that ensemble, really. even as the nervousness he tried to keep at bay slowly seeped through, he still has this air of composure to him; a coolness you once had the privilege of calling yours.
and so, as the quartet played the wedding piece, you wondered where you'd gone wrong; why you weren't the one wearing the white gown. you continued to observe as he straightened his suit for the umpteenth time that evening, leaning over to his father, arthur and whispering a few things in the man's ear.
then, the doors flew open. songbirds that had been conjured up by precise spell work flew into the room, then coalesced with the bouquets of flowers, disappearing into thin air. their twitters and chirps that sounded like glockenspiels being struck still remained, echoing and harmonising with the quartet.
she walked in.
she who must be the luckiest woman in the world.
in all white, she put the moon to shame. even as the candelabrums stood dignified, burning with importance and decorum, she outdid them.
with a gown dotted with rhinestones that glimmered without needing a light source, and silky hair that flowed in the evening breeze, she spelled out perfection without having to use any vowels and consonants; all she needed was to flash a smile and laugh.
angelina johnson cascaded down the aisle with her train of periwinkle behind her. eyes were all on her, and hers peered through the veil at the man whose last name would soon be hers.
that last name you'd sworn was going to be yours.
bitterness soon bubbled inside you, as she finally reach him. good for her.
"do you, angelina johnson, take george fabian weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
i object.
"and do you, george fabian wealey, take angelina johnson to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"i do."
don't.
think of the nights we'd spent at the astronomy tower, poring over the endless revised editions of this and that. think of the candles we'd burnt through, the wax seeping into our robes, but we didn't care.
think of the nights we'd spent running away from the awful squib, just to dance in the corridors without a care in the world. think of the afternoons by the great lake trying to dry ourselves off the muggle way, but we ended up smelling like the giant squid instead.
think of all the beautiful hogsmeade weekends we'd wasted away in the common room because you just wanted to be in my arms.
think of the evenings we spent at the matron's dabbing away at quidditch wounds and naming all your scars and bruises. this one "billy", that one "fred" because it really did look like him.
where had it all gone? where had that boy gone; washed away by the war and found by the shore of the light side, earless and cold but still so painfully wonderful.
were you not mine? were you not mine to vow separation only by death to? was i not the one you'd promise to marry after the war?
and as you felt your breath hitch in your throat, the crowd cheered.
and that was it, as they wrapped their arms hungrily around each other, lips meeting, tying their bonds and changing her last name to his. that was the very second you knew he flipped over your chapter and burnt the pages. he rewrote over your stanzas written in fourth year that stretched all the way to the seventh and doused them in kerosene, setting it all ablaze.
and it was at that moment you swore you saw his eyes meet with yours from behind her; serving as a reminder of the distance between the two of you as he stood in the aisle, and you seated on the benches.
that man was no longer yours to call "mine".
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