But Miranda knows what it is, and when she looks at it - numb in the face, like it sprayed her with ice or anaesthetic or like she isn't there at all - when she looks at it the thing she was almost onto, rereading that one chapter for the tenth time to understand, clicks.
There are numerous hypotheses about the metaphysical implications of the Dementor. Many suppose it to be, simply, a monster, with no greater symbolism; others have likened it to the torporous sadness that befalls susceptible minds; it has been likened to everything from inevitability - for they cannot be destroyed, only diverted - to darkness - for obvious reasons. A poet, looking after his exposed son, compared the Dementor to death itself -
But Death is not inevitable. The Philosopher's Stone existed once, it could be made again. There is surely more magic waiting to be discovered.
She doesn't know how to make the Philosopher's Stone on the spot. Let alone how to spontaneously invent a new Dementor-killing spell. The cold is trying to make her give in to this discouraging fact.
But she has a very, very enthusiastic wand.
She brings her shaking hand to her hair, and pulls the chimaera-hair wand out, and she's read the chapter ten times, she knows the motion and the words -
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
It's not an animal, even a chimaera. It looks like - a person. A genderless, giant, graceful person of silver light, pouring forward from her wandtip towards the unreasonably large dementor. They're of a size.
And when the glowing person wraps its arms around the monster, they are no longer of a size.
The dementor shrinks, and screams, and shrinks, and Miranda holds her wand up, trembling.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-08-14 05:25 pm (UTC)They're not supposed to be that big.
But Miranda knows what it is, and when she looks at it - numb in the face, like it sprayed her with ice or anaesthetic or like she isn't there at all - when she looks at it the thing she was almost onto, rereading that one chapter for the tenth time to understand, clicks.
But Death is not inevitable. The Philosopher's Stone existed once, it could be made again. There is surely more magic waiting to be discovered.
She doesn't know how to make the Philosopher's Stone on the spot. Let alone how to spontaneously invent a new Dementor-killing spell. The cold is trying to make her give in to this discouraging fact.
But she has a very, very enthusiastic wand.
She brings her shaking hand to her hair, and pulls the chimaera-hair wand out, and she's read the chapter ten times, she knows the motion and the words -
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
It's not an animal, even a chimaera. It looks like - a person. A genderless, giant, graceful person of silver light, pouring forward from her wandtip towards the unreasonably large dementor. They're of a size.
And when the glowing person wraps its arms around the monster, they are no longer of a size.
The dementor shrinks, and screams, and shrinks, and Miranda holds her wand up, trembling.