Texas Chud

Ladies, gentlemen and yearners of the Manor, allow me to present tonight’s entertainment. A self-appointed professor of True Love walked into my replies to inform me that a Patronus changes for “one true love”, and that this was “clearly stated”. I asked him, very politely, for the page. There was no page. There has never been a page. So instead of a quote, he gave me a lecture. I have “no idea whatsoever” what true love is. Most people’s love is “nothing more than a habit”. There’s “no point explaining” it to someone as unenlightened as me. Darling, I’ve been yearning for the same insufferable boy since I was eleven. I’ve forgotten more about love than you’ve ever posted. Then I gave him the books. Harry and Ginny: stag and horse, unchanged. Ron and Hermione: terrier and otter, unchanged. Luna: hare, unchanged. Every great romance in the series, and not a single Patronus moved. The only change we ever see is Tonks’s, from heartbreak. The rule is “great shock or emotional upheaval”, not “true love, as defined by Jan”. His answer? The books are a plot hole. And I “smell shit and call it flowers”.So, to summarise his evening: canon was clearly stated, until it disagreed with him. Then canon was shit. Then he blocked me. In under an hour he invented a rule, attributed it to the books, failed to find it in the books, insulted my love life, insulted the books, insulted my sense of smell, and fled. Seven years at Hogwarts and I’ve never seen anyone lose that efficiently. Not even Gryffindor at Quidditch. Tonks changed her Patronus for Remus. Snape carried a doe for Lily his whole life. This man couldn’t carry an argument for twenty minutes. He told me I’d never understand love. I understand it perfectly, darling. It’s the thing you didn’t have for the source material. Pearl wants it noted that she has more spine than he does, and she’s a snake 🐍 P.S. Write all the fanfics you like, darling. Give me a stag, a dragon, a phoenix, a very confident ferret. I’ll even read them. Your stories, your rules. But don’t come under my posts to force them on me and then call me ignorant when I say no. I am team peacock, and that’s how it’s going to stay 🦚 nitter.cf/ClaihoJan/status/21158…

Many of you have been giving me Patronuses lately. Stags, does, serpents, one very confident ferret. I’ve seen them all. You’re all very creative, and you’re all wrong. So let me tell you the truth, once, and then we’ll never speak of it again. A Patronus isn’t a costume. It’s not chosen to match your house or your boy. It’s made from one memory, the happiest you have, and if the memory isn’t strong enough you get nothing but silver smoke. Plenty of dark wizards never manage one. One tried, and the light ate him alive. I grew up in a house where I never once saw anyone cast it. You can imagine why. What I did have were the peacocks. White ones, on the lawn at the Manor, for as long as anyone can remember. When I was small, I used to sit on the cold steps and watch them for hours. They never hurried. They never asked permission. When one spread its tail, the whole garden went quiet, as if the world had agreed to wait. I thought they were the most beautiful things alive. I wanted to be exactly like them: untouchable, magnificent, and never seen to need anyone. At school I tried to cast it. Every year. I’d stand in an empty classroom and think of Mother’s sweets, the first time I flew, the day I got my wand. Mist. Every time. I told everyone I simply wasn’t interested. I was interested. I just didn’t have a memory that was good enough. Or I did, and I refused to look at it. Then came the end. The castle was half rubble. Everyone thought he was dead. I’d already said goodbye in my head a hundred times. And then he wasn’t dead. He stood up in front of everyone, alive. The Dementors came pouring over the walls, the air went cold, and somehow I was standing next to him with my wand raised, and I wasn’t afraid. That was it. That was the memory. Not a feast, not a broom, not a gift. Him, alive, and me beside him. I didn’t even have to try. It just came out of me, enormous and white and impossibly bright: a peacock. Of course it was. Look it up, darlings. The old books say the peacock is pride, and I won’t argue with that. They also say it’s watchfulness. All those eyes on its tail, never missing a thing. I’ll admit I noticed a great deal about one particular boy over the years. They say it’s immortality, and that night, a great many things refused to die. And they say it’s renewal, because every year it loses all its feathers and grows them back more beautiful than before. I lost a great deal in that war. I grew back. Proud. Overdressed. Loud when it wants attention, still when it’s frightened, and loyal to one place forever. Also, for the record, peacocks eat snakes. Pearl is aware and has asked me not to cast it indoors. So no, it isn’t a stag. And it isn’t a doe. That story belongs to someone else, and I don’t borrow other people’s love stories. I have my own, thank you. It doesn’t count, there were explosions, but it’s mine. A white peacock. That’s my Patronus. You may now update your fan art accordingly🦚💚