Grim Truth 93/4/6
Jun. 4th, 2010 03:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alt_sirius posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
alternityGreetings, British Wizarding World!
Like you, I’ve followed the events of the last few days at Hogwarts with mingled shock and admiration – shock at the origins of the attacks and admiration for the young heroes who dove (literally) into danger to save their metaphorical sister. It’s a relief, of course, to see that the mystery has been solved with no additional loss of life.
It’s equally nice to see that for once, the blame has not settled on my shoulders, though, as should be no surprise to anyone by now, it perhaps has not fallen upon the guiltiest parties in the conspiracy. Oh, Lockhart certainly threatened students and deserved to be unmasked as a fraud, and I’ve no idea whether the unfortunate house-elf was truly culpable or not, though he surely has also received a just punishment for his actions. But I have no confidence that either of them were the real masterminds behind the Secrets of the Chamber, or bringing them to the fore at Hogwarts this year.
In all the excitement and festivity, however, it is important to remember that not everyone was, in fact, saved. And not everyone is leaving school this year unscathed by death – some have seen far more than their share. It is cold comfort to simply tell our children (and wives) we love them very much: They know. They know, too, that those who have left us behind do not only leave us with questions; they leave us with a seemingly insurmountable surfeit of grief.
Those who have lived long enough to have lost close friends or relatives understand that loss can feel like a tide of pain, wave after wave of blue, as if there’s nothing we can do. And really, there is very little remedy. It lessens with time, though it often relapses with the merest thought or reminder. But although the focus of much of wizarding Britain is on Hogwarts, we should also remember that there are more people than ever who grieve this year: People who need not have had their loved ones taken from them, who ought to have kept them close for years to come.
I’m speaking of course of the thousands of enslaved Muggles and Muggle-born who have lost a family member – or more than one – to the Ministry’s plague. But my words apply just as readily to those suffering any personal loss.
It’s easy to feel one’s world has turned utterly black, as if one can never be happy again. That is a trap. Carry the memories, even the flaws, but the important part is to carry on, learning from what enrichment our departed gave our lives. And their disappointments, as well. I have found that very few people we love manage never to disappoint: There is always some point at which those relationships are tested. It’s even more disappointing when they cannot withstand those tests. Particularly when there’s no way to go back and discover what went wrong.
Just as a random example, I take it the Lord Pretender lost no time in excoriating the memory of my late brother. I suppose the opportunity to disavow the acts which Regulus was ordered to perform was simply too tempting. Anyone with a brain could easily review his posts to see that he was being systematically broken, destroyed by atrocities that grew progressively perverse. After all, I know of few Death Eaters who were less bloodthirsty, which is not generally a recommendation for their little club. And anyone who is familiar with the Dark Lord’s past methods can conjecture that certain acts – ones that seem the most out of character for someone of his sensibilities – were devised not just as punishments against me and my writing, but specifically calculated to torment him, push him and mould him into something he could never be.
There are still a few gaps in the explanation, things we may never understand completely, though I suppose, some of us will never stop trying. It’s clear enough that Regulus truly was being driven mad: Not the madness that the Prophet described, but mad with guilt over his own weakness and at the same time, his ruthlessness. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part, and the grimmest of Grim Truths, is that time and again, Reg was capable of carrying out his instructions. He was even able on occasion to twist them to something he thought might gain him an advantage of some kind (something I believe backfired on him horribly, but nonetheless, worth noting if only to show how far from sanity he had travelled). He was, in fact, both stronger than he ever imagined he could be, steeling himself to any number of heinous and depraved acts, and simultaneously, paradoxically weaker than he ought to have been. Because sometimes, true strength is refusing to act, when one’s orders are unreasonable, unjust or inhumane. Ultimately, whatever his reasons, he chose the course that led to his downfall. To imply or assign a lack of control over his actions is merely an attempt to absolve him of the guilt, fear and weakness that contributed to his deterioration as a wizard, and more importantly as a man.
It is a lesson we should all remember: That weakness takes many forms, and does not always translate directly to the inability to force oneself to new heights (or depths) of cruelty. Sometimes, it is measured by one’s inability merely to retain one’s own integrity.
Like you, I’ve followed the events of the last few days at Hogwarts with mingled shock and admiration – shock at the origins of the attacks and admiration for the young heroes who dove (literally) into danger to save their metaphorical sister. It’s a relief, of course, to see that the mystery has been solved with no additional loss of life.
It’s equally nice to see that for once, the blame has not settled on my shoulders, though, as should be no surprise to anyone by now, it perhaps has not fallen upon the guiltiest parties in the conspiracy. Oh, Lockhart certainly threatened students and deserved to be unmasked as a fraud, and I’ve no idea whether the unfortunate house-elf was truly culpable or not, though he surely has also received a just punishment for his actions. But I have no confidence that either of them were the real masterminds behind the Secrets of the Chamber, or bringing them to the fore at Hogwarts this year.
In all the excitement and festivity, however, it is important to remember that not everyone was, in fact, saved. And not everyone is leaving school this year unscathed by death – some have seen far more than their share. It is cold comfort to simply tell our children (and wives) we love them very much: They know. They know, too, that those who have left us behind do not only leave us with questions; they leave us with a seemingly insurmountable surfeit of grief.
Those who have lived long enough to have lost close friends or relatives understand that loss can feel like a tide of pain, wave after wave of blue, as if there’s nothing we can do. And really, there is very little remedy. It lessens with time, though it often relapses with the merest thought or reminder. But although the focus of much of wizarding Britain is on Hogwarts, we should also remember that there are more people than ever who grieve this year: People who need not have had their loved ones taken from them, who ought to have kept them close for years to come.
I’m speaking of course of the thousands of enslaved Muggles and Muggle-born who have lost a family member – or more than one – to the Ministry’s plague. But my words apply just as readily to those suffering any personal loss.
It’s easy to feel one’s world has turned utterly black, as if one can never be happy again. That is a trap. Carry the memories, even the flaws, but the important part is to carry on, learning from what enrichment our departed gave our lives. And their disappointments, as well. I have found that very few people we love manage never to disappoint: There is always some point at which those relationships are tested. It’s even more disappointing when they cannot withstand those tests. Particularly when there’s no way to go back and discover what went wrong.
Just as a random example, I take it the Lord Pretender lost no time in excoriating the memory of my late brother. I suppose the opportunity to disavow the acts which Regulus was ordered to perform was simply too tempting. Anyone with a brain could easily review his posts to see that he was being systematically broken, destroyed by atrocities that grew progressively perverse. After all, I know of few Death Eaters who were less bloodthirsty, which is not generally a recommendation for their little club. And anyone who is familiar with the Dark Lord’s past methods can conjecture that certain acts – ones that seem the most out of character for someone of his sensibilities – were devised not just as punishments against me and my writing, but specifically calculated to torment him, push him and mould him into something he could never be.
There are still a few gaps in the explanation, things we may never understand completely, though I suppose, some of us will never stop trying. It’s clear enough that Regulus truly was being driven mad: Not the madness that the Prophet described, but mad with guilt over his own weakness and at the same time, his ruthlessness. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part, and the grimmest of Grim Truths, is that time and again, Reg was capable of carrying out his instructions. He was even able on occasion to twist them to something he thought might gain him an advantage of some kind (something I believe backfired on him horribly, but nonetheless, worth noting if only to show how far from sanity he had travelled). He was, in fact, both stronger than he ever imagined he could be, steeling himself to any number of heinous and depraved acts, and simultaneously, paradoxically weaker than he ought to have been. Because sometimes, true strength is refusing to act, when one’s orders are unreasonable, unjust or inhumane. Ultimately, whatever his reasons, he chose the course that led to his downfall. To imply or assign a lack of control over his actions is merely an attempt to absolve him of the guilt, fear and weakness that contributed to his deterioration as a wizard, and more importantly as a man.
It is a lesson we should all remember: That weakness takes many forms, and does not always translate directly to the inability to force oneself to new heights (or depths) of cruelty. Sometimes, it is measured by one’s inability merely to retain one’s own integrity.
