Harry Potter’s Last Battle

A thought just struck my mind. Harry Potter’s last fight is all wrong. Now before you start cursing me or screaming at the absurdity of my thoughts, let me explain why I think so.

I guess you would all agree with me that Harry wins in the end because he comes out to be the real master of the Elder Wand. And the reason behind that, what Harry informs Voldemort, is:

a. The Elder Wand belonged to Dumbledore who won it after defeating Grindelwald.

b. Draco Malfoy won it from Dumbledore.

c. Harry overcame Draco at Malfoy Manor. And thus, Harry comes out to be the rightful owner of the wand.

But what we all are forgetting is that Harry was also overcome in a fight. Remember when Harry goes to sacrifice his life in the Forbidden Forest, Voldemort curses him with the killing curse Avada Kedavra.. It is another thing that Harry does not die. But at least, he was overcome, he was defeated by Voldemort.

So, what shall that mean? Voldemort is the true owner of the Elder Wand. That would mean the Elder Wand wouldn’t have rebounded the killing curse on Voldemort and thus, it must have hit Harry. And hence, Harry couldn’t have survived his last battle. Though all the horcruxes met their end, but the essence of the soul of Voldemort that still existed in his body still would have remained there.

What do you think of it!?

I see it this way. You may counter argue that Harry was not disarmed, the hawthorn wand stayed with him, tucked safely in his cloak. But does that hold significance compared to the fact that Harry was actually beaten by the Dark Lord?

Do share your views about my theory.

Note: I am considering the story of the book here, not the adapted one of the movie.

This picture is damn good..

Writer’s Cookie

He was turning out to be the person he wished he would never become. He was terrified of the boredom he was experiencing daily. It was as if he had nothing to do.

“The last book, I wrote, was five years back,” he told his close friend.

It was never published. Truthfully, none of his books were ever published. He had written a few books, some of them he could never convince himself to send to the publishing houses and while the others he had sent were kindly rejected, though he didn’t know because he never got a reply and he forgot it all with time.

“It is alright. You have a few ideas in your mind, right?”

“Yes, I have but they mean nothing till the time I start working on them. They have to come to life to mean something,” he desperately put forward his agony.

“Then work on them.”

“I can’t. Whenever I turn on my laptop and open a word document to type out the words ready to pour out of my soul, I end up typing not even a single word.”

“Why is it so?”

“It is because I feel doubtful either about my ideas or about my capability of working over them.”
He sipped his tea but didn’t pick up the almond cookie, even though he wanted to and rather just looked at it with a morbid sincerity.

“You are no longer enjoying your writing, are you?”

“I haven’t been writing. So, how can I tell?”

“It is okay. Take some time. And may be then you can join a creative writing class.”

“I am old now and there would be kids there.” He finally moved his hand towards the cookie to pick it up; it had lured him into a desire to consume it.

But his young friend’s hand was swifter and she picked it up and gobbled it down and his hands remained in an awkward position. It was the last cookie.