Top/Potter, Harry/Gun

Heyo, all! This one has been stewing around in my head for a while. My real stews don’t turn out very well, if I’m being perfectly honest, but I have a good feeling about this one. If it were a real stew, it would be rich, tangy, and brown. (Brown isn’t particularly appetizing, I know, but it’s the appropriate color for stews.) Also, this slash/stew wouldn’t be poisonous. That might seem like a given to most of you, but, trust me, it’s not.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago I was sitting in my closet, watching a film from a then-little-known producer by the name of Jerry Bruckhimer. The movie was about a troubled and short young man with dark, tousled hair. This boy had rare and exceptional abilities, and was accepted into an exclusive school for other special children like him.

At the school, the lad made a sidekick out of an oafish bootlick, formed a curiously asexual relationship with a very clever girl, and found an enemy… and then a friend in a blue-eyed, blond haired classmate. And, of course, he ultimately excelled at the unusual academy.

I’m talking about Harry Potter, right?

No! But, see, that’s what I thought too! It turns out that I was high as a kite from a Freon leak (my neighbor’s vintage refrigerator vents right into my closet) and I had actually been watching Top Gun all night.

But the mix up got me thinking: if I could so easily get these two films confused… maybe they were really meant to be mixed up. Mashed up. Slashed up!

And so, without further ado, I give you…

Top Potter/Harry Gun

The men’s locker room at the Navy’s elite Fighter Weapons School. The room is empty, the showers temporarily dry and free from concealing clouds of steam.

The doors open, and a crowd of boisterous young men jostle and shove their way into the locker room. Many of the young men wear the FWS’s standard-issue sport jeans, the official volleyball wear of the school. For they have indeed been playing volleyball, in a much anticipated intermural match with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Hogwarts students have been graciously allowed to use the FSW’s locker room, and still flushed with the excitement and sportsmanship of the afternoon’s match, the cadets are happy to share their space.

The Hogwarts students have lost the game. It was a close game, close enough that they very well could have won if luck had gone their way, but the defeat is a stinging one nonetheless. Hogwarts boys are used to getting what they want, and these boys wanted to win. They shuffle into the locker room, their shoulders slumped in their sleeveless sport robes. The last two to come in are the captain and co-captain of the team, and they can’t help but feel responsible for the team’s loss. They are, naturally, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. (Respectively. Ron knows the only reason he is co-captain is because of his famous and athletic friend.)

Ron: Mother-fu…

Harry: Ron! You’re a co-captain! Act like it for once.

Ron: Ah, sorry, mate. I just… I just…

Harry: I know. It’s the worst. But without the losses, the victories would mean nothing.

Ron sighs.

Ron: If you say so, mate.

Ron slouches onto a bench and bends down to struggle with his shoes. He has never gotten the hang of laces. He stays at it for several seconds.

Ron: Ah, Harry, mate…

Harry looks down to see the tangle Ron has made of his laces.

Harry: No problem, Ronno.

Harry crouches next to Ron, and concentrates on the knotted laces. He’s amazed that Ron could have created such a mess with only two strings and no magic. His prescription goggles have become fogged in the warming locker room, and he pulls them from his eyes.

Ron: They make you look like Scotty Pippin.

Harry: What?

Ron: Your goggles. They make you look like Scotty Pippin. It’s a good look on you.

Harry: Thanks, mate, but I know what they make me look like: a git.

Ron: No! Harry, I’d never…

Harry: Don’t worry about it. I know.

Harry stands up and gives Ron’s bare shoulder a firm squeeze.

Harry: There you go. Laces sorted out. Why don’t you hit the showers? The next game will be better. I know it.

Ron: Yeah. We’ll beat these retards yet!

Harry: I wish you wouldn’t use that word. But… (Harry grins) Yeah, we will.

Ron ambles off towards the showers, his mood already lifting. Harry wishes he could be so carefree. He stretches, and scratches his temple with his wand.

A voice comes from behind him: Nice moves out there, Potter.

Harry whirls around, his wand at the ready, prepared to face the shriveling sarcasm of the Malfoy. But it’s not Malfoy that stands in front of him.

Harry: Who…?

But then he places the young man in his memory. He is Maverick, the captain of the FWS team. The boy, in many respects, looks like a stockier, more muscular version of Harry. Harry sees so much of himself in the other captain’s eyes, he half expects to see a vivid, zigzag scar on his forehead. But his brow is smooth and unmarked. A mischievous grin crawls across his mouth and creases his eyes.

Harry relaxes, and sits on the bench to untie his own shoes.

Harry: Er… Maverick. Thanks. But not quite nice enough, I guess, huh?

Maverick thrusts a jean-clad leg up on the bench, and rests an elbow on his knee.

Maverick: Ha ha! Nah. Just bad luck. Plus, the Iceman was in rare form today.

Harry: “The Iceman”?

Maverick: The cool customer with the highlights in his hair and the chip on his shoulder.

Harry: Ha. Practice that one?

Maverick’s grin widens.

Maverick: You know it. Maverick’s a real asshole, but he sure can play ball.

Harry: Yeah… I’ve got one a lot like that.

Maverick: The ginger?

Harry: Ron? No, Ron’s a puppy dog. Well, a puppy dog who can’t be trusted with matches, but you see what I’m saying. I’m talking about Malfoy.

Maverick: The golden snake with the killer spike?

Harry: That’s the one. “Golden snake”—that about sums it up, I suppose. Malfoy… sometimes I just want to break his little neck. And sometimes…

Maverick: Yeah. But that’s captainship for you. It’s not what people think it is.

Harry: No, it’s not. It’s… stressful.

Maverick: You said it. It just builds up, right up here.

Maverick places his thick hands on Harry’s shoulders. Maverick is right. The muscles in his shoulders are tense, and as knotted as Weasley’s pathetic shoes.

Harry: Yeah, right up there.

Maverick squeezes Harry’s shoulders, kneading the tight muscles.

Maverick: You just have to let the game in, you know? The action, the movement… Let the game lead you, and you’ll lead your boys just fine.

Harry: Yeah, I forget that sometimes. Say, I don’t suppose you’ve ever played quidditch…

Ron calls excitedly from the other side of the locker room: Harry! Mate, they have some sort of tub full of hot water, like a… a… a hot-tub. You can get in it!

Harry reaches back to give Maverick a pat on the bicep.

Harry: I better go check on him. Last time he went in the lake by himself, he almost drowned. From eating mud.

Maverick gives Harry’s shoulders one last squeeze, tight and strong.

Maverick: Ha. You should have seen Goose. Until next time, Potter.

Harry: Yeah. Until next time. Oh, and Maverick?

Maverick: Yeah?

Harry, with a wink: Watch your back at the next match. I’ll be gunning for you, bud.

Maverick: Ha ha! I don’t doubt it!

Maverick flashes a grin, and gives Harry the thumbs-up. The curtain falls.

Harry slash Draco slash Fun

That Star Trek movie got me all worked up over the creative potential of slash fiction, and the Harry Potter review put some ideas in my head. So I worked up this little piece for y'all. Just what is the relationship between Harry and Draco? There's more there than plain hate... Let's take a look at a scene not in any of the movies (yet!)

__________


Harry and Ron sit in the history of magic classroom. Harry is hunched over a desk, but Ron is clearly ready to leave. Class has long since ended, and Harry is struggling with a particularly tedious essay.

Ron: C’mon, mate. Hermione can help you out with that later. Let’s go play wizard baseball!

Harry: Sorry, Ron, but I want to do this myself. Hermione said she thought I was functionally retarded.

Ron: That minge! I’ll never understand girls.

Harry: You and me both. Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you later.

Ron: All right then.

Ron starts to leave.

Harry: Hey! Ron… What’s “wizard baseball.”

Ron: Wizard baseball? Oh, Harry. It’s like muggle baseball, but with magic. I can’t explain it.

Harry and Ron chuckle and Ron’s oafishness. They both know which of them is functionally retarded. Ron leaves, and Harry turns back to his scroll.

Harry: Oh, what good is magic if it can’t write an essay on the gnome renaissance for me?

Harry sighs. He is frustrated and tense. He runs a hand through his dark, tousled hair. His fingers linger on his famous lightning-bolt scar, as his hand moves across his forehead. The scar is tingling.

Harry: Hmm.

A door opens silently in the back of the classroom. Although the entering figure is initially obscured by darkness, the white-blonde hair moving through the shadows like the rising moon reveal the intruder to be Draco Malfoy. Draco pads stealthily behind Harry, and places his long, pale fingers on Harry’s shoulders. He rubs the shoulders gently through the thin, regulation school robes.

Harry, unaware of just who the newcomer is: What happened to wizard baseball?

Draco composes his fine features into a careful sneer, and squeezes harder with his hands, rubbing the shoulders almost roughly.

Draco: Oh, I don’t know. It turned out that wizard baseball is a game for wizards too poor and stupid to appreciate the finer wizard sports.

Harry Potter nearly falls out of his desk in surprise. This would have saved him time, as he erupts from his seat, whirling theatrically to face Draco. His scar tingles like crazy.

Harry, sarcastically: And what sports can the “betters” of the wizarding world appreciate?

Draco: Muggle baiting, centaur riding. Goblin races. Nothing you’d know about, with a family like yours.

Harry: Better than a family that licks the boots of the Dark Lor… “Goblin races”?

Draco: Did I stutter, Potter? Do you speak English? Yes, goblin races. We unshackle some of the goblins for an afternoon, and watch as they chase each other across the gardens.

Harry: That sounds like the sort of thing you’d like.

Draco, sneering: Oh, it is. Maybe you’d enjoy it too, Potter, if you could step down from your pedestal.

Harry, his voice dripping with sarcasm: Maybe I would.

Draco takes a step towards Harry.

Draco: Perhaps you should come sometime. There’ll be free food there too, so maybe you should bring your friend, Weasley.

Harry, stepping forward himself: I wouldn’t put Ron through that. And your food would only make him sick.

Draco: Excuses, excuses. Don’t use poor Weasley as a scapegoat.

Harry: I never said I wouldn’t come.

Draco, rolling his eyes slightly: Oh, really? I guess I’ll see you there, then.

Harry: I guess you will.

Draco: Wonderful. I’ll tell my father.

Harry: Do that.

Harry gathers up his things, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. A smirk lingers on Draco’s face as Harry walks by, towards the exit.

Harry, pausing: Draco, maybe you could participate in them sometime.

Draco’s smirk falls with suspicion: Participate in what?

Harry puts his hands on Draco’s shoulders, and squeezes them firmly.

Harry: The goblin race, of course. You’ve got the legs for it.

Draco’s jaws tense, and his face darkens with intense emotion.

Harry, kneading Draco’s thin shoulders: You just need to loosen up a little.

Harry’s hand slowly trails down the side of Draco’s robes as he walks away, a final declaration of confidence and contempt for his adversary.

Draco, softly: You’ll get what’s coming to you, Potter.

Harry, over his shoulder: I hope so.

Harry Potter The Movie review: A wizard will teach us how to be a boy

I'm on a roll! More movie reviews!! Here goes:

The epic wartime struggles of an educational institution, as seen through the eyes of a little boy.

That about sums up this film. What we have here is yet another entry into the now venerable Harry Potter: The Movie series, which, like the others, can be highly entertaining if you’re willing to take some time to unpack the symbolism and visual metaphor.

I am not willing to do that. Not at the moment, anyway. But if you can just keep the following notes in mind, you’ll get the general idea of what’s happening beneath the surface; there’s magic in all of us, Harry may or may not be gay, and sometimes a wand is just a wand. If that sounds like your kind of thing, head on over to your local movie theater, and you won’t be disappointed.

Notes and nitpicks:

Wizard—I love seeing magic spells on screen!

Witch—You can clearly see the wires holding some of those spells up. C’mon, Warner Brothers, it’s the 21st century, let’s see some cgi!

Wizard—H.P. and the gang are finally developing those acting chops.

Witch—While a head wound (and the subsequent hormonal issues) early in the filming of the series has trapped Rupert Grint in a child’s body, Daniel Radcliffe is making a less convincing eleven-year-old with each passing year. Not much to be done about it, but… it distracts.

Wizard—Look for a well-played cameo by Lil’ Wayne! Seems like Hogwarts has a very interesting new astronomy teacher…

Witch—What the hell happened to Dobby?! Harry & Dobby are the Ross & Rachel of Middle Earth!

Wizard/Witch—Apparently Radcliffe was given to daily fits of apoplectic rage, during which his handlers would force him onto a specially made Snuggy to keep him from hurting himself or others on the set. Scary! But it looks like the merchandise machine behind the series is now making “the cloak of madness” available to all Target shoppers! One, please!

Potter slips from the blazing world

I just ate a black grape sour jellybean. (Are those hierarchical adjectives? Fudge!) It was like eating the dark heart of a star. My mouth tastes like a chemical factory.

Speaking of the dark hearts of stars, let’s examine the recent behavior of one Daniel Radcliffe, a.k.a. Harry “the best boy” Potter.

The Boy Who Lived (and who eventually had sex with his best friend’s little sister) has been up to some distinctly un-Gryffindorish antics recently.

I’m not just talking about his nude scene in Equus, either. All the best wizards have to get buck now and again, probably to replenish their chi, etc. (I’m thinking of Gandalf specifically here, but no doubt Merlin, Dumbledore, Siegfried and certainly Roy all had their own NC-17 moments at some point.) No, I think we’re all mature enough to deal with a little exposed wand now and again. (I made that joke up in the first place, so keep all cries of plagiarism to yourself.) What first got me concerned, I think, was the arson.

We all bought the “er’buddy duz it in England” argument, I suppose, but now that he’s started with these hate crimes, I don’t think we can let that one fly. Who would have thought the little wizard could have so much hate in him? Wow. He sure does hate the physically disabled.

I don’t think we need to take it much further than that (and how could you?), but I did come across this probably-overlooked article (overshadowed as it was by “Boy Genius Sets Fire to Special Olympics”): it seems that D. Radcliffe, in his spare time, has been arranging “romantic” liaisons with older men through craigslist, and then publicly accusing them of pedophilia. When it was pointed out that, despite the outfits in his photographs, Radcliffe is well over the age of majority, he claimed that he was simply practicing a “shame spell.” He then indicated to reporters the finger-shaped bruises on his upper arms, and added “Abracadabra!” By and large, the journalists were not impressed.

What gives? What’s Lil’ Scarface up to? His agent claims that the behavior is simply a teaser for the plot of the next Potter film, but I had the book read to me, and I don’t recall any part in which Harry Potter tries to lock a blind couple in a freezer.

I’m more inclined to think that what we have here is yet another case of Gary Coleman Syndrome. The fading of childhood comforts is more than some personalities can bear, and the resulting anxiety is released in often violent outbursts. (It has been argued that Coleman was also mourning the loss of his career, but I disagree; anyone could see that he had a bright future of autograph signing and local television advertisements ahead of him.) Look at Mike Tyson, if you need another example. When The Dynamite Kid suddenly became The Strongest Man in the World, suddenly we were seeing ear-biting and children-eating.

I’m afraid that if we can’t somehow figure out a way to reverse Radcliffe’s aging (hormone therapy?), he will soon be on the road to punching women in shopping malls. That would be a tragedy, to say the least. Please write to your local Warner Brothers rep, and encourage them to take action.