Feelin' Mellow

I'm in something of a weird mood at the moment. I had a great campaign with Avon, my house is (more or less) cleaned up, and my kiddies are all sleeping, and therefore well-behaved. But I'm not sleeping real well, and I'm still avoiding people. I've been making myself get out more though, and that has seemed to help. I had coffee last night with two lovely ladies, and it looks as though my coven will soon have another member. I'm a little nervous about it, after last year's meltdown, but what can we do but move forward?

Halloween went fairly well. I never really got into the spirit (you should pardon the pun) of the thing, but I made cute costumes for the girls, and Rowan wore his costume from last year (it still fit, and he's two, what does he care?) They were all three ADORABLE. If I do say so myself. And I do.

I've been doing a fair amount of knitting, introspecting, and some writing lately. cybermathwitch, wretched girl that she is, has gotten me writing Harry Potter fanfic. Its actually pretty durned fun. I may post some up here (I mean hey, what's the internet for if not shameless self-aggrandization?)

Harry Potter Drabble

Do you ever think about names? So much of what matters in the magical world is language.

Words, words, words.

Stupid muggle literature. I’m never sure if I think Hamlet is a ridiculous poncer or an alright guy. Now if I were in that situation, my uncle would never stand a chance.

This is entirely beside the point.

Names.

The most feared wizard of our time is never called, never referred to, by name. Maybe “You-Know-Who” sounds less scary. All I know is my father doesn’t have it in him to say Voldemort. There. It’s not even easy to write it.

Of course she says that fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Never thought I’d find myself agreeing with a mudblood. Filthy blood or not, she’s still right.

Names, though. For some reason, I can’t leave it alone.

Voldemort. morte, death. That one’s easy enough. Now, Vol de...that’s harder. vol, French, flight. de, of. Flight of death. Death flees before him? One could take that several ways, none of which are pleasant.

I find it most galling that the “great hero” of our age, the wizard to finally send “You-Know-Who” packing, has the rather ignominious name of “Harry Potter.” Rather common, really.

Ron Weasely. Come on, I mean that one’s too easy. Weasel-y. Hardly worth the effort.

Then there’s her name. Granger. A granger is a farmer. What is it with the Wonder-Trio anyway? A farmer, a potter and a red-haired rodent?

But Hermione. Now that’s where it gets interesting. Despite my family’s rather dim view of most things muggle, my mother made sure that I had a thorough classical education. Latin is, after all, the language of choice for incantation.

The mudblood was named for the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the classical world.

Years ago I found this terribly amusing. Not a joke I could share with Crabbe and Goyle obviously, as the two combined have barely the brainpower of a bobotuber root. But now….

Now, it isn’t funny.

And my name. Malfoy. From the French. mal, bad. foy, faith.

Bad Faith.

I wonder.

How much of who we are is really determined by our names?

“What’s in a name?”

Indeed.