do you ever think about how Alice and Lily were pregnant at the same time and since knew each other because of the Order they probably swapped pregnancy tips (and pregnancy horror stories) and picked out baby clothes and read parenting books and talked about names for the baby? do you ever think about how James and Frank bonded over how excited and nervous they both were to be new fathers and talked about what books they would read to the baby and how they just couldn’t wait to meet their new child? do you ever think about how Harry and Neville could have grown up together, having dual birthday parties and play dates and being as close as brothers, but instead when Harry and Neville boarded the Hogwarts Express for the very first time, their childhoods tainted with abuse and tragedy, they were nothing but strangers
is refreshingly devoid of the usual man vs. man conflict, it is filled with conflict of other varieties, notably man vs. self (the contestants vs. their knowledge of baking) and man vs. nature (the contestants vs. the time limit)
War, yes, War suits Gryffindor well. Fighting and dying for beliefs; fighting and dying for nothing; drafted into bloodshed and fire by bravery or chivalry or neither. Some take joy in this; some are burdened beyond repair. There was a cause, somewhere; there was good, somewhere; there was a reason for all this, somewhere. Oh, you’d have to be brave to live through this. Red and gold. Gold like armor and glory; red like blood and reality.
But Famine and Hufflepuff? No. Famine is Ravenclaw, ever-hungry for knowledge, constantly starving for more and more and more, almost feral for fulfillment. Where is the wisdom in the world? The truth? Nothing is true; nothing is enough; all there is to devour is worthless scraps. Blue and bronze. Bronze like a set of scales tipping and found wanting; blue like the infinite that never satisfies… never gives the answers.
Thus Pestilence is not Ravenclaw. Pestilence is Slytherin, sick with clever plans and cunning potential and corrupting desire. Ambition spreads like a sickness, a plague of greed and an illness to the soul. Maybe some might call it cruel, but here among friends it’s simple cunning at work. Green and silver. Silver like the sheen of glazed eyes; green like the complexion of infection.
And so Death is not Slytherin. Death is Hufflepuff. It is a hard work; it is a work that is never done. But someone must do it, and do it fairly – do it justly – do it well… perhaps even kindly. Everyone is equal here – in the end – a bunch of duffers. Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot… And treat them just the same.” Yellow and black. Black like loss of sight as the air leaves your lungs; yellow like the flowers that’ll grow over your grave.
DustAndFundamentalists 