Harry's contrasting relationships with the Malfoys and the Weasleys are quite telling in this regard. For those lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the narrative, the Malfoys are the model bad family, and the Weasleys are the model good one. Harry is friends with Ron Weasley: an ugly, clumsy, unrefined, poor, uneducated, red-haired symbol of subjugated Britain's Celtic peoples, as subjugated by the Anglo-Saxon pawns of the Judeo-Christian masterminds of the assault on northwestern Europe. Ron Weasley has a large, messy family, and they serve as comic relief throughout the narrative, allowing Anglos to laugh at how stupid and backwards and messy, yet how warm-hearted and quaint, the Celtic survivors are. Appropriately for the patriarchy, Ron's pretty younger sister sights Harry and immediately wants to be taken away for mating and reproduction; she ends up bearing his offspring by the end of the tale.
The Malfoys are the Weasleys' polar opposite: clean, good-looking, refined, wealthy, educated, blond symbols of Anglo-Saxon lordship. Rowling played upon English cultural memories of the Norman invasion by initially likening the Malfoys to Norman occupiers, employing a mix of francophone and Latinate nomenclature to play upon lingering Gaelic perceptions of the eleventh-century occupation. The wealthy administrators of this occupation were the spiritual successors to Charlemagne: anti-pagan colonists from different parts of Europe, working with Semitic financiers to break apart indigenous communities and unite them under proto-universalist Carolingian mores. The long-running joke of sneering French occupiers, as exemplified in Peter Sellers' stellar portrayals, still lingers, paying testament to the many ways in which France has so deeply and thoroughly served as the infected puncture wound of Europe, sheltering the revolutions and Napoleons that intellectually define the people's ongoing destruction.
It was the Germanic tribes of Europe who offered the fiercest resistance to the neo-Roman Semitic financiers of northward invasion, even hurling back the invasion in several instances, for which they were historically cursed as the barbarians who had ended latter African-Rome's desiccated "civilization." The western Germanics--the Franks--were bought and rapespawned into servants of Charlemagne and the Merovingian courts, producing nasal tools for further Semitic ideological expansion. Thence came the next wave of murdering the Celts: latter-day Rome, tool of the Semitic financiers, had frequently tried to crush those peoples, but a solid foundation in France gave them the "Normans" who would secure a kingship, and thereby, a royal occupation that would persist to the present day. The invasions of Russia; the housing of the intelligentsia that would be employed against Africa and Russia and America; the conduit from Canaan to Rome to the English channel; the oh-so-profitable twentieth-century antagonism against Germany, once Britain had been conquered; the absurdly brutal and wasteful Mediterranean colonization of Algiers: all of this sprang from that foothold in France, when the brutalized rapespawn of the Germanic tribes became a more controllable offshoot of their former selves.
Rowling, in Potter, did not mean to illuminate any of this history, but as a dutiful innocent, she was consciously aware of the good-natured ribbing that the English make of French accents, and she was subconsciously aware of the darker undertones of the Celts--and Britons--who instinctively remember the evil implied by those sneering Latinate bastards who serve faraway masters of shadow. This is why the supposedly longstanding English wizarding family is headed by a "Lucius Malfoy" rather than a "John Bullbridge." Early in the story, Malfoys present as Norman invaders, deriding the Weasleys for their poverty; the protagonist Harry and (his female friend) Hermione form a tribal coalition of Brits to resist Malfoy. As the narrative progresses, though, and as Rowling is guided into influence beyond the scope of her initial processing capabilities, the Malfoys become increasingly anglicized, and the struggle against Draco (the Malfoy line's scion, and the protagonist's at-school nemesis) becomes not one of solidarity against an invader, but of domestic politics against a token Tory. Draco becomes less of a Norman occupier who doesn't belong, and more of a conservative bastard who belongs too much, while Harry transforms from a tentative immigrant into a universalist native. In short, the series portrays Rowling's transition from a simplistic, patriotic Englishwoman, into a simplistic cosmopolitanite.
Not only through the Malfoys does this pattern occur. We've previously discussed some of the other ways in which Rowling stretched her newly cosmopolitan mores: the retroactive homosexuality of Dumbledore and Harry's ad-hoc (and effortlessly doomed) Chinese romance. The whole of the narrative, though, is replete with replacement orthodoxies of this sort, in sync with the audience's, and Rowling's, developing reception toward these ideas. Hogwarts (the magic school which Harry attends) begins as an isolationist, secretive, superior world, holding itself aloof from the non-magical subhumans (called "Muggles"), regarding whom the privileged wizarding class is not only scornful, but cautiously afraid, paternalistically derisive, Othering, et cetera. Muggles are presented as being, essentially, working class consumers as viewed through the lens of a Downing Street boardroom: interchangeable, short-sighted, dangerous, greedy, and in desperate need of elite management. This is an appropriate and predictable point of view for someone like first-book Rowling, who views herself as a savvy author, inspired by creativity and therefore different than the mindless telly-zombies like everyone else. It suits her to writing a book for small children or undeveloped adults, who possess a dim understanding of the larger world, and, solipsistically, don't quite understand what everyone else is doing or feeling "out there."
Once Rowling becomes a successful figure of influence, then a "major motion picture" figure of influence, her attitudes change--perfectly lining up with the developing attitudes of prepubescent readers growing up, or childlike adult readers becoming more interested in the Labour Party's platform specifics, respectively. Midway through the narrative, Rowling begins to sprinkle hints that Muggles are not bad per se, merely lacking in the inborn intelligence of wizards; as pages continue on, it is suddenly revealed that Muggle politicians are working with magical politicians to coordinate their shared response to world events. The whole character of the "secret world," which Rowling so pain
In short, Rowling got really into the E.U. The E.U. has positives and negatives, as well as good potentials and bad potentials, yet the version of the E.U. to which Rowling, and her readers, came to subscribe to--the overarching purpose of Potter, and why it was chosen for development--is one in which human is subjugated to bureaucrat, and identity not merely destroyed, but subsumed: so wholly that the new identity, the one popular at this moment, is not only popular now, but always was popular. Rowling is what Orwell warned of, namely, a bureaucratic statement that is both currently and retroactively true. Ergo it is appropriate that Dumbledore not only is gay now, but that he always was gay, or that Hermione is not only African now, but always was African, even though of course none of this is "true." Rowling has gone on Twitter to retroactively adjust anything fans ask her, confirming that yes, Hogwarts did in fact have students who identified as different genders, or were disabled, or who were pansexual, or Inuit, or Jewish, or Muslim, or whatever else is popular at the moment, and this has been cheered as a masterwork. If Rowling were da Vinci, the Mona Lisa could be a female feminist one year, an MTF transsexual the next, and in the third year, a scene depicting the hopelessness of pastoral motherhood via a conservative female subject, depending on what the artist declared to be the case at that time--and all earlier presentations and perceptions, including those of the creator, would be and would have been incorrect, now and forever.
The frizzy-haired little girl sitting with all of those White cis people is Rowling's image of Hermione, 1999. Due to recent events, this picture no longer exists. You think you see it but you actually don't.
One's image of "the student body of Hogwarts," or, "the character of Harry Potter" is, therefore, meant to be flexible. What we're seeing in Potter is Jackson Pollock brought into the literary world. Time is dead, for what happened in the past--one's experiences and memories--must vanish, in Orwellian fashion, in order to not conflict with official truth as it is stated now. When the CIA/Mossad were using postmodern visual art on target populations during the twentieth century, they of course encouraged the production of authors and written works meant to be equally repugnant to the idea of a person having a memory; an identity; a self; yet, these written things were inadequate, compared to the simian smears of color produced by the soul-deadening visual postmodernists. The written word proved itself more resilient. In Potter, we're seeing how it takes a mass of managed perception to provide proactive, retroactive continuity to an expression of social willpower tantamount to the franchise. Potter is a Pollock painting in a roomful of unshowered grad students, worthless without the excessive, self-indulgent pontifications about what its meaninglessness can possibly mean. Of course, it doesn't actually mean anything; it's simply random smears of color, or random stuff happening. But in the hands of the needful, its meaninglessness is itself meaning, for they can see inside it anything they want to. Accordingly, the self is destroyed. No meaning means no self, and no identity. Beauty and realism are shunted aside, as always, and the onlooker is taught, by the general consensus of seeing meaning in the meaningless, that meaning doesn't actually exist. And so we stop believing in anything except the interpretation. Dead Iraqis? What's the interpretation? Raped Swedes? What's the interpretation? Nothing, not even the self-evident, is evident in the meaningless world. Rowling, or Brussels, will tell us what it means now, and they will tell us what it meant then, later that may change, and we are not to remember.
Dumbledore's gayness, Hermione's blackness, Muggles inside and outside the reader's knowledge. Rowling hasn't yet done anything about fat-shaming and body image: her narrative is stuffed full of mockery of fat people and eating habits in the most traditional of ways, including the violent glutton Dudley who picks on young Harry, Dudley's fat father, and the fat Crabbe and Goyle characters at Hogwarts, whose avaricious approach to food gets them in humorous trouble. The positive body image movement, if it gains traction, could force Rowling to begin arguing that the overweight groundskeeper Hagrid is a positive portrayal of the large.
Like all destructions of identity, the collective destruction of Hogwarts' past is bad not only for what was, but what is. After all, if Hermione is and always was African in 2015, her experiences as such a person were therefore utterly marginalized throughout the entire narrative. When Draco called her a "mudblood," it was not merely a wizarding slur, but a racial slur, and her entire social structure, along with the school administration, failed to even acknowledge the slur, let alone to support Hermione, or address the racial implications in its punishment of Draco or work with other students involved. If Dumbledore is and always was sexually attracted exclusively to men, similarly, then homosexuality is an utterly worthless and unimportant part of a person's identity and existence. In the 2010s, it seemed cool and hip to a simpleton to do so, whereas in the 1990s (and with much less social clout), that same simpleton would think it was too edgy or gross, as well as inappropriate for children, to make such a suggestion--if she'd even thought of it in the first place. Her abject blindness to the issue, paired with her later hypervigilance on the issue, proves her to be a coward, as well as not an artist. Retroactively outing Dumbledore harms homosexuals, incentivizing a level of closeting such that no one would or could or should know during seven years and thousands of pages of intimate acquaintance.
The "muggles don't know" and "muggles do actually know" switch is similar, though less emotional to the homosexually-touchy populace of modern Terra. Wizards can cure diseases with simple spells, and wizards can conjure nourishing food from thin air. When the wizarding community must keep secret from the muggle community due to Complicated Reasons, there's an excuse for millions of muggles dying from starvation or terrible diseases, or suffering paralysis, or other conditions which a handful of wizards could easily remedy in a few days. If those Complicated Reasons don't exist, though, and "muggle politicians" actually do know about the wizarding community, then--like God the disinterested clockmaker--how moral is the wizarding community for permitting muggle infants to die in ventilators (or to need ventilators at all), or children to die of tuberculosis or starvation, et cetera? Rowling was too stupid to contemplate how making the Ministry of Magic connected to the muggle government ministries would raise those questions, so her retroactive adjustment of the narrative's world was, again, not only inartistic and cowardly, but produces a level of reprehensibility in her characters that is truly deistic in scope. Specifically, their second-graders can end world hunger with the wave of a hand. Were Rowling a libertarian elitist, as she somewhat clumsily (and unwittingly) presented herself while initially fantasizing about her magical world, she would be prepared to justify such concepts; as a bureaucratic international socialist, though, the backbone of her project is unable to support itself except through wishful blindness.
In Part 1, we discussed Dostoevsky, Demons, and nihilism, and the destruction of immemoriality and morality incumbent upon one who wishes to end beginnings. Throughout the Potter Period, in both the E.U.'s and Rowling's Terras, we've seen the ways that people try to combine the mutually incompatible--no, not "Europeans" and "refugees," but rather, literally incompatible things, such as "white cis patriarchal exclusive secret prep school" and "multikulti pansexual universalist safe space." The incompatibility has its own little funnies about it, just like when someone tries to combine "feminism" with "Islam," but those funnies are simple and superficial. What should interest us here is not that people try to combine incompatible ideas in the Potter Period, but rather, the need those people feel for drawing upon deep blood tradition in order to do so. Rowling's hypocritical madness is laughable, yet also tragic, in that her current self sprang out of a form of tradition she would later reject. And its popularity--the millions of carefully guided consumers who've ridden Potter through extended childhoods, approaching world politics and their own reproduction from that perspective--drew from that same source: an exclusive mountain retreat for the well-blooded rich. This speaks to the dirty secrets of today's nihilisms, reminding us that relativity, communism, and multikulti are actually elitism at heart, for it takes a person sufficiently empowered to control groupthink in order to draw meaning from a Rothko or a Rowling, and to rewrite and replace the past perspectives of so many eager supplicants.
Art can always be evaluated in context, but it can be understood only intrinsically. We 2016 Terrans tend to confuse the two, replacing understanding with evaluation, retrospecting our wish-dreams onto the past, and ascribing our transmodern indulgences of neuroses onto the decoratively functional relics of ancient civilizations, then recasting art, both ancient and current, as mere patient-on-couch representation. Re, re, re, go the condensers, compressing time and memory to a single explicable point. Which is to say, a ritual fetish dug up by archaeologists, the said fetish possessing swollen breasts and buttocks, may be sociologically symbolic of fertility or a tribal life-god of perpetuity, but a true work of art is standalone, requiring no local familiarity with mitosis for appreciation (not the "like" kind of appreciation, as we've been taught to associate with the term, but the "teaching/understanding" kind of appreciation). In terms of the Potter Period, we see all of our art reduced to the decoratively functional, like unto the Spenglerian "craft," where artifacts are meaningless without the shared context of the people who give them their true meaning. As a consumer is meaningless without a Walmart, and as a microaggression is meaningless without advanced critical theory, the realities of what we believe, and who we are, are intended to become inexplicable without consulting the merchants of distribution. Self-referential sitcoms, and television shows that interview celebrities who are famous because of appearances on other television shows, and satires of such television shows, are the audiovisual corollary to what Potter and Rowling have helped accomplish through text: the suspension, not of disbelief, but of belief. One is commonly thought of as having to suspend one's disbelief to experience speculative fiction, e.g., to disregard such trivialities as the fact that one is listening to a storyteller recite the journeys of Beowulf, rather than being Beowulf oneself. That suspension is not false, but represents sharing, hoping, imagining, and growing, and all the things that comprise reality. The suspension of belief, though, is one in which one must, in order to maintain coherency, abey one's own memories in order to cling to a broken lie. An adult might read Potter, find it entertaining, then go on with life, but if Potter is to be a civilizational narrative, then one must never discard Potter, even when its White cishet-ness, so reassuring and enjoyable as a child, begins to conflict with the multi-ethnic transqueerness demanded by one's older self. In Britain, child-molesting bigamous Pakistani men are feminist allies, and in America, the wealthy white male rapist is the new feminist hero, because the suspension of belief allows the Rotherham and the Clinton networks to be congruous with women and children.
That is the impact of Potter, and of the never-grown child-citizen weaned upon it. Tradition coasted gently into un-tradition, and although the Protocols can no longer be hidden and denied--for every library has several sets of Potter at the ready--we are seeing that the Protocols were never actually needed, for it is the accumulated desire for what to believe that governs. For so long, some of us yearned that a future of hard drives, photographs, live video feeds, records of CFR and Bilderberg attendees, Fed audits, FIFA requests, pictures of the Auschwitz swimming pool, and the like, would be the "proof" we finally needed to vanquish evil. At last, they would no longer be able to claim they were misquoted, misunderstood, falsified, disparaged, et cetera, for we have proof in hand, and we even have millions of people who saw it happen only a few years ago. Wrong. Evil is ahead of us. This is, and always was, a battle of will, having nothing to do with proof or evidence, for we all know about the terminator seeds, and yet here we are. A man from the future, a woman from a more advanced planet, could do nothing to save us, not armed with mountains of evidence, for we are come to believe that Hogwarts embraced tranny rights, even though Sorceror's Stone is sitting on our very bookshelves.
Part 4: Ugly Prequels.