muggleborns discovering the room of requirement has an internet cafe room
every muggleborn on campus mysteriously disappearing when not in class
Picture this: A Hogwarts student comes to realize and understand that they are transgender. They’ve just come out to the entirety of the school.
For the purpose of this headcanon, we’ll say that the student identifies as male.
He is dreading another year of sleeping in the female dorms, but…
They stole from us.
They came to us, to our city of Krarivarendium, deep in the hearts of the earth where our great forges lay. Gold we forged, silver was our plaything and bronze was the plating we used to plate our halls. And jewels, such jewels! the likes of which the world will never see again; real, living jewels possessing a light of their own. There were weapons too. Swords, axes, daggers, shields. Why should there have been no weapons? Was it our own savage nature that lead us to make them or the joy of making? There things of peace too. Jewelry, uncursed - that is an invention of wizards, full of hate, always looking to see whom they may step on to climb their ladder - cups, plates, candlesticks, chandeliers, pillars, statues, horns, lyres, harps, flutes. More peace than war.
Aye, but they came to us and cared not for our cups, plates, statues and instruments. What do they care about cups and plates? They eat their food from wood and drink from clay and call themselves civilized. Intelligent. Worthy. Rulers of all the earth. But they live as only the poorest of us dares to live. That is a story for a different day; of Krarivarendium in the days of its glories, when Grimug the Great sat on his throne and the rivers of the city flowed with gold, not water and jewels grew on trees, ripe for the plucking - those are stories worth hearing indeed, not these tales of treachery and falsehood, so common to all our tales about the wix.
Their eyes turned to our weapons. You see it was a time of great war amongst the men who lived above the earth. Great armies marched across the face of the earth. Sometimes we could smell the blood, it would drip through our ceilings and soak our walls. We plated our walls with bronze. Savages. Uncaring for the earth, only the loud thump-thump of hooves and feet marching from here to there, conquering, conquering, conquering. Sometimes they would pay us for our weapons and so we would take their gold. The lands were theirs to mine as much as ours and gold was not easily come by. The coins we melted in our forges and purified and beat into new forms.
Greedy, like all of them. Greedy and unimaginative, but they knew how to speak well and listened carefully when we spoke, watched in silence as we showed them, asked questions - clever questions - so we took them as our own. Foolishly so, but the world was still young then and we had not yet learnt of the despicable depths to which the minds of men could stoop. Alongside us they worked, copying, creating, but they would never match our skill and how we prided ourselves on it. Short in stature we were, but in the forge what did height matter when only skill could set us apart?
Then one day they left. As swift as they came. Not so much as a thank you or god be with ye. For all we had taught them they left us nothing in return. No parting tokens to show us their esteem. Perhaps they did not esteem us as much as we once thought. Perhaps they had never held us in their esteem at all. Perhaps they simply despised us for we were not as tall as they, or well formed as they. We are short and swarthy, they call us, ill-favoured. Because we are ill-favoured in their eyes they despise us - and still despise us. Foul-hearted and despicable they call us, but only because our faces are so in their eyes - and more, but I digress again, forgive me, our ugliness will come into play again.
Not only had they left without a warning. No, they had taken our books, the great books within which we wrote our spells and magics; all the secrets we had painstakingly uncovered over centuries and millennia - all of it gone and all our halls ablaze with a bewitched fire that could not be touched by water, nor by any of the spells we used to put our fires out. In a matter of moments the great goblin city of Krarivarendium, the only one of its kind in all the world, was burnt to the ground and only a few fortunate ones escaped with nought but the shirts on their backs and mere memory to serve them in the days to come.
Mulciber they call themselves today. Servants of the devil himself. There was no justice for us. The kings in their great marble halls laughed at us and threw us to the lions in their great circuses. For sport, for amusement, for barbaric pleasure. These were the great kings of their times, gods they called themselves. Julius. Augustus. Tiberius.
No, we had nothing; no place to rest our heads, no books recording our magic or our history. But we had our wits, we had our fingers, we had our imagination and we had our magic. We worked our way up, with nothing but what we could lay our hands on. Aye, we tricked and treated, deceived and lied so we could find ourselves gold to work in our tiny forges. But we too had been tricked and deceived, no justice for the wrongs against us. This was our justice. One wrong to cancel out another wrong.
We made beautiful things again. Swords, shields, cups, necklaces. Coins. Coins enough to fill mountains, to fill the depths of the earth. But though we had made it, they were not ours to keep. They paid us money and then passed it, hand to hand, never once giving us our dues. Cheats and liars, they are, even their greatest heroes.
Yet they are foolish also. Soon we found ourselves power, graciously given to us by the very people who had destroyed our great city. But we took it, because we had nothing. Beings, they call us and count it merciful on their part to call us so. They take our coins but will not touch our hands and if they do, they cringe; great wizards and witches in their lavishly decorated robes - that gold filligree is ours but they do not know it - who will not deign to treat with us because we do not look like them. They take our jewels, our swords and then laugh in our faces when we demand a price - it is ours now. But it is ours, we made it, we poured ourselves into it. They understand but one form of ownership: if they have laid their hands upon it, it is theirs.
They come to our banks, but they will not look at our faces. They make us promises which they will not keep. We will give you wands, they say and with their other hand they write us rules, hundreds of rules which we must abide by if we are to use those wands. But we were there when the first wands were made and we remember to whom they were given. Thieves, murderers and criminals. They will sneer, they will raised their kerchiefs to their delicate little noses, they will command us as though we are their servants but they do not know. They do not know.
We have power. We own their banks. We own their money. We make their coins. We make their weapons. They have grown lazy. They have forgotten how to make for themselves. They do not know how to cook, how to mint their money and raise their arms for war. They have only their wands, which they will not give us. But we have more. We have the truth, we have power.
Remember the Sack of Krarivarendium. They sing of it as a noble battle: but we know the truth! Remember Ragnuk the First. They call Godric Gryffindor a hero: but we know the truth! Remember 1631. They tell us we ought to be glad we are beings: but we know the truth! Remember Urg, remember Nagnok, remember Hodrod!Remember Griphook! They worship the Boy Who Lived: but we know the truth!
Goblins of Britain, my friends, my brothers - this is our history. This is our story. From land to land we have run, looking for justice and met only with cruelty because we are ugly because we are short of stature: because we do not look like them. We have been the butt of their jokes. The villains of their stories, seducing poor innocent maidens, bankrupting noble young wizards and deceiving princesses. But no more. No more.
We have power, let us use this power to take back what is ours.
Goblins of Britain unite! This is our hour! We will show the deceivers what it means to be truly deceived! Let us show them the hollow lies of the world they have made for themselves, let us show them truth: let us show them our power! Let us join with our continental brothers and shut the doors of Gringotts until they come to us humbled and begging, until they understand what it means to have nothing but the shirts on their backs! Long have they looked down their powdered noses at us, let them now look up to us and raise their hands and beg for mercy! Let them see their world fall!
Speech delivered in Gringotts, 11th August 2014 by the head goblin at Gringotts.
There were certain magics, sacrificial and old, that the Ministry subtly kept from view, fearing what might happen if people took it up again. Very few found the spells.
Old folk magic, rowan twigs tied with bloodied red string, to make obvious those who were under polyjuice or were under disillusionments. The fingerbones of a holy man, crushed, and mixed with dried mandrake and spit in a pouch to make a powder that kept those who meant harm from ones doorstep. Little pouches of herbs and nails and coins from coffins bound with your blood that turned harm aimed at you back to the one who sought to harm. Letting a candle burn to your skin to hide you for as long as it burns.
Blood wards, to protect those you love with your life, quite literally.
Myths on Magic: The Wars of Fire - myths of the last of the free elves from Myths of the magical creatures of the world by L. Lovegood & R. Scamander, 2014.
There is considerable debate over whether the Wars of Fire belong among the various anthologies of myths of the magical world or in the annals of history. Leclère-Tantomile (1960) speaks for most magianthropologists when he asserts that the tales that commonly pass for history among magical creatures are no more historical fact than the so-called lineages that pureblood families trace all the way back to popular European deities. The general consensus, further expressed in T. Frazer’s speech at the founding of the Herodotus Woad Society in 1964, is that the oral nature of the histories of the magical creatures has led to the inclusion of extraneous matter that makes the veracity of these histories hard to determine - their reliance on symbolic representations of real acts making the original acts difficult to determine.
There has been very little critique of this stance. Patil (1989) comes close to critiquing this stance by asserting that these concerns with veracity (with regards to the mythologies of South Asian wix), couched in terms of determining a “true” and “empirical” history, have long been used to conceal violence perpetrated by one group - more often than not, European wix - against others. However, Patil does not extend this stance to the oral histories of magical creatures, falling back on the assertion that magical creatures formulate and understand their histories very differently from the wixen folk (personal communication, 2010).
It is the assertion of the authors of this text that the oral histories of marginalized sentient magical creatures are as real as the written histories of the wixen folk. To assert that the acts represented in their oral histories are merely symbolic representations of actual acts and in fact, that these mentioned acts never occurred, is to dodge many of the key issues and assertions in these tales and furthermore, to fail to acknowledge the role of wix in violence perpetrated against these communities.
Let us not mince words. Genocide. As a race, we have been guilty of this. The Wars Of Fire are testament to this fact - one of the few genocides to have been documented and that too, not by wixen historians, but by folk tales told by centaurs and free elves.
Dryads have been documented and listed among the few species of magical creatures to have gone extinct (Linnaeus, 1971). Magizoologists writing on the extinction of this species have remarked that “there is no known cause for their extinction, though some have speculated that a disease specific only to magical plants and genetically similar beings were responsible for the decimation of their population and some, rather outlandishly, have asserted that a cosmic event was responsible for their extinction.”
However, over the course of our research, the authors stumbled across several texts from the now public archives of the Mulciber family, dating back to 800 A.D., indicating the sale of several fire-creation spells and potions, and at least one letter from Apollyonus Mulciber to Vulcanus Mulciber (c. 801 A.D.) indicating a systematic war waged by wixen folk against the dryads. We reproduce a particularly telling paragraph here, for skeptics and those who prefer written records to orally reproduced texts:
… In truth, our father is of the opinion that death by fire is the most humane end we can offer such base and uncomprehending creatures as these. I was so unfortunate as to have glimpsed one of these creatures naught but three days ago. A most horrendous creature, full-clad in mud and with hands as the branches of the trees from whence it came. I hope that thou, my brother, will recover speedily from thine injury and thus come join us in our worthy cause.
We find it unnecessary to stress the veracity of this text by supplementing it with other texts, cited as it has been by Ignatius Incendius in his seminal work on pyromancy (1939) - a text which is still used today in the instruction of novice pyromancers.
As the section above indicates, there is evidence to indicate that the Dryads of Europe were systematically killed by the wixen population. The oral histories of the free elves (dubbed ‘myth’ by popular magianthropologist writers) argue that this systematic genocide occurred for no other purpose but to ensure the easy enslavement and conversion of the elves into house elves as we know them today.
Originally forest-dwelling creatures, the elves fell under the protection of Dryads - the natural magical rulers of the forests. The elves, the history goes, befriended the first of the men who found their way into the deeper magical forests of Europe. In time, their weaker stature and their warmth of disposition made them more susceptible to capture and enforced slavery among the wix armies that marched across Europe at the time. As protectors of all the creatures of the forests, the Dryads began raiding the baggage trains that followed wix armies, freeing any elves that were entrapped there.
No negotiations, no hearings. The wixen armies retaliated by banding together and waging a ten year long war, known as the Wars of Fire, during which many of the magical forests of Europe were burnt to the ground, thousands of Dryads were slaughtered and hunted for sport and nearly the entire race of elves were enslaved by wixen folk for their comfort and pleasure.
There is little doubt in the minds of the authors that calling these violent acts simply “symbolic” serve no purpose but to obscure the wizarding world’s history of violence against sentient magical creatures: a history we have long failed to face up to and moreover, failed to make amends for. These are not myths: these are histories.
what kind of incantations did wizards and witches use before the evolution and cross-roman empire dispersal of latin?
this has always bothered me.
The English could laugh all they liked when they saw those charlatans peddling their amulets, lining the sides of Diagon Alley. But they were wrong to blithely dismiss all amulets as mere fripperies and fopperies, the province of the uneducated and superstitious.
After all, what did they know of magic outside of the narrow confines of their world?
But witches and wizards (and even muggles) from the Middle East knew a thing or two about warding and protection against dark magic - of how to trick the evil eye. What good was a shield charm once a curse had already been cast? What good was it to have the most powerful wards on one’s house, only to wander the streets completely unprotected?
But then these fools seemed to have a funny sort of magic, all yelling about and waving arms in a wild frenzy, with none of the subtlety, the cruelty of their magic - magic which necessitated protection at all time, for who knew when someone would cast their eye upon you and curse you, sweet, simple and painful?
A simple amulet, each nazar was carefully handcrafted in the fires of a glass-maker, an art nearly as old as time itself, and while it was being carefully molded, a skilled warder would mutter the incantations, weaving the magic into the very heart of the bead itself. The wards themselves were nearly as old as the glassmaking craft, many of them lost except in the oral tradition of these witches and wizards who dedicated their lives to crafting protective amulets to fend off the evil eye. Only the three Unforgivables would ever break through these wards, once one wore it against one’s skin. Every other curse was deflected, its magic broken and shattered on the spot.
Real wards for real magic.
These English witches and wizards could rightly laugh at the peddlers and hoaxsters along Diagon Alley. Those crudely made charms and amulets were not true ward magic, merely pale imitations - a relic of the imperialistic imagination of a magically impoverished people. These wizards and witches could laugh at them too, with their nazar dangling from simple rope threads ‘round their necks. Amulets and charms, mere superstition, yes, yes they could laugh at all their superstitious nonsense.
They would have the last laugh when those foolish men in masks came for them all.
Haroun was proud to wear his amulet around his neck walking the halls of Hogwarts. He turned a blind eye to the students who laughed and jeered and made snide remarks, ignored the muttered slurs against the tone of his skin and the god he followed.
But those comments changed the first time a third-year, cocksure and trying to impress a pretty girl, cast a Bat-Bogey Hex his way. The burst of light shattered against his chest like so many shards of glass, dissipating into the air. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees as everyone froze and looked towards the Slytherin as he slowly drew out his wand and threw a counterjinx at the boy with naught but a glare. After all, wands could only flick in so many ways—and the old magic deserved to be respected.
Those wizards without their sea-legs scoffed at our magic. They laughed at our “substandard” wands made from merpeople scales, shards of sea dragon teeth, or the hair from a hippocampus. They chuckled because we used wood from sunken ships and far off places, wood that Mr. Ollivander had…
Muggleborn students finding out that the Room of Requirement can have wi-fi
Muggleborn students finding out that their electronic devices can work in the Room of Requirement
Muggleborn students making sure that there’s always one person in the Room of Requirement to make sure the wi-fi stays
Muggleborn students smuggling electronics into Hogwarts
Muggleborn students beating the system