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lexIt's been a long time since I've been into Harry Potter. It still means a lot to me, though. In high school, my group of friends were all into it - as kids do, we picked/assigned each other characters. My closest group was the Marauders. When Paddy and I took Astronomy, we called it Astrology and passed notes incessantly. The teacher put up with it because we got straight As and helped the other students. But that's not the story I want to tell. What I want to tell you is this: I was James Potter and it shaped me.
I didn't want to be James at first. He was the dead one, the bit of a jerk, the ringleader, the charismatic one. My friends picked wisely, though. I was the charismatic one, the ringleader, the one who provoked things a bit just by being there and sometimes on purpose. I was the confidante and older sibling. Didn't matter if I wanted that or not - it just was.
Moony was quiet, unassuming, clever and dryly witty. Sev was sharp-nosed and sharp-tongued, laughed like a horse, and had elbows that could cut you like a spiral ham. Ron was a bit not-too-bright and good-natured, but quick to anger and quicker to hold a grudge. Paddy was my best friend, loud and bright with a grin that could flay a man. And I was Prongs.
I resented deer at first. I didn't want to be a deer, flighty and spindly and hunted for sport. But it stuck. And deer stayed in the back of my mind until I was ready for them. I'm not sure I'm ready yet. But some nights I dream that I walk through the woods. It smells of green and growing. The ground is wet under my feet. The moss on a fallen tree is soft, and the branches stir gently above. And I look up, between the trees, to the crest of a ridge, and there is a stag. He looks at me, a ghost-crown of antlers on his head, and I expect him to speak. He turns and walks away and I can feel a weight on my head that had not been there before. I don't have to reach up to know what it is.
This is the season of those antlers. It is the season of death and renewal. It's a time of bracing for the deep bright quiet of winter. I was born when antlers are shed, in the unfolding of the new year, when the sun is bright through snow-thick branches.
One day I'll wear my own antlers. I'll know the right ones when I meet them. They will peek out from the leaves of last year and the snow of this year.
I know how silly it sounds to say things like that. Who wears antlers anyway? When would I have occasion to wear them? What do I think I'm doing, playing with such things? But I can never really listen to those objections because I know the antlers are right. I will wear them in the season of antlers, when the air is crisp and the trees are bare. I will find a place that smells of pine and frost, and I will stand on the crest of the ridge, and I will be at peace.
The forest gives many things. I need only learn to recognize the gifts.
...and now I'm thinking OH GOD EVERYONE WILL THINK I'M SO STRANGE but this is who I am so fuck it. I'm weird, this is not news. Winter always makes me think of deer, and HP makes me think of deer, and HP in winter is like DOUBLE DEER WHAMMY. There, I made a bad joke, now I feel better. XD
I didn't want to be James at first. He was the dead one, the bit of a jerk, the ringleader, the charismatic one. My friends picked wisely, though. I was the charismatic one, the ringleader, the one who provoked things a bit just by being there and sometimes on purpose. I was the confidante and older sibling. Didn't matter if I wanted that or not - it just was.
Moony was quiet, unassuming, clever and dryly witty. Sev was sharp-nosed and sharp-tongued, laughed like a horse, and had elbows that could cut you like a spiral ham. Ron was a bit not-too-bright and good-natured, but quick to anger and quicker to hold a grudge. Paddy was my best friend, loud and bright with a grin that could flay a man. And I was Prongs.
I resented deer at first. I didn't want to be a deer, flighty and spindly and hunted for sport. But it stuck. And deer stayed in the back of my mind until I was ready for them. I'm not sure I'm ready yet. But some nights I dream that I walk through the woods. It smells of green and growing. The ground is wet under my feet. The moss on a fallen tree is soft, and the branches stir gently above. And I look up, between the trees, to the crest of a ridge, and there is a stag. He looks at me, a ghost-crown of antlers on his head, and I expect him to speak. He turns and walks away and I can feel a weight on my head that had not been there before. I don't have to reach up to know what it is.
This is the season of those antlers. It is the season of death and renewal. It's a time of bracing for the deep bright quiet of winter. I was born when antlers are shed, in the unfolding of the new year, when the sun is bright through snow-thick branches.
One day I'll wear my own antlers. I'll know the right ones when I meet them. They will peek out from the leaves of last year and the snow of this year.
I know how silly it sounds to say things like that. Who wears antlers anyway? When would I have occasion to wear them? What do I think I'm doing, playing with such things? But I can never really listen to those objections because I know the antlers are right. I will wear them in the season of antlers, when the air is crisp and the trees are bare. I will find a place that smells of pine and frost, and I will stand on the crest of the ridge, and I will be at peace.
The forest gives many things. I need only learn to recognize the gifts.
...and now I'm thinking OH GOD EVERYONE WILL THINK I'M SO STRANGE but this is who I am so fuck it. I'm weird, this is not news. Winter always makes me think of deer, and HP makes me think of deer, and HP in winter is like DOUBLE DEER WHAMMY. There, I made a bad joke, now I feel better. XD
