Comes From People Who Don't Engage With Fanon, So They Think Of Canon James And Regulus And Cannot Comprehend

Finished Squid Game 2 and I'm obsessed. It got me so hooked I literally cried so hard at the most random moments because of how impactful and meaningful everything felt and the metaphors for capitalism and class and omggg. Season 1 was great but this one just meant more for me and I'm so excited for this thing to become my new source of dopamine for the unforeseen future.

Severus Snape and Sirius Black are narrative mirrors, mainly for their shared grief for a lost loved one but also for how they both projected their relationship with James onto Harry.

Sirius saw James in Harry. He wished James was in Harry and the main reason he protected and loved Harry was because of his devotion and grief for James. He did love Harry regardless, but he still connected James to Harry significantly to a point he didn’t recognize Harry as his own person.

Severus saw James in Harry. He convinced himself James is in Harry, because he hated seeing Lily in Harry. He hated looking into those eyes, so he kept himself in denial, because that's how he coped.

Sirius isn't a manchild that only saw Harry as James. But there is a character in canon that is like that, and that character is Snape.

This man has been gaslighted his whole life.

Something about how Snape says in anger about his first time going to the Shrieking Shack, "Saved? Saved? You think [James] was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends' too!" (DH)

Something about how Snape tells Harry in exasperation in his second time in the Shack, "I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee!" (PoA)

Then something about how Snape dies from a neck wound on his third time in the Shack, doing the exact opposite of saving his own neck, while "Harry remained kneeling at Snape's side"... (DH)

Thank you for opening me up to this, I have never entertained such possibility till now.

dolores umbridge born in april 1961, sorted to Slytherin, so she was in the same year with regulus

i imagine many possibilities in their dynamic

i actually cannot express how much i need the fic of them falling in love via pinterest, as they both curate #aesthetic voldemort fan pages.

It's like Severus with Lily except Sirius and James were actually compatible.

It's wild to me that prongsfoot isn't more popular. What happened to the friends to lovers enthusiasts? James and Sirius had the two-way mirrors because they couldn't stand spending ONE DETENTION apart. Sirius escaped prison and spent a year eating rats and DIED to protect James' son. They were attached by the hip. They were the only ones that mattered to each other. They were one soul in two bodies and you're telling me they're a rareship??

James and sirius were so cute for that mirror face time idea

Dolores Umbridge, who was a quiet, insecure and unpleasant child in her first years, was one day in her 6th year paired up with Regulus Black. They had a similar work ethic, and that’s where their quiet camaraderie started. But since she wasn’t a pureblood and wasn’t much to look at, he kept to himself and mostly ignored her presence.

But in their 7th year, everything changed when they had a casual encounter that led to a deeper talk, where they both realized their ideas for the wizarding future were the same and their passion was just as intense. They talked for hours about Voldemort, exchanged ideas on the many ways Muggleborns and half-breeds should be subjugated, and developed mutual crushes.

Regulus, whose passion and intellect weren’t always reciprocated and who was a lonely boy, found solace and friendship in Dolores, and they both enjoyed each other’s presence while it lasted.

Then Regulus died, and Dolores’s heart hardened with a mission to keep going and succeed at what she had dreamed about with Regulus. She suppressed her pain, became a Ministry worker, and pledged to make the lives of half-breeds and Mudbloods worse. Her loneliness, and the only ounce of deep connection she had ever been given—whom she now grieved for—kept driving her actions.

Nicely written 😊

My problem with Lily and James being seen as a super couple has nothing to do with Severus Snape but rather with the fact that when we look at the relationship between James and Lily through a feminist lens, it’s hard not to notice some pretty glaring issues that go beyond just whether or not they’re an “OTP” couple. Sure, on the surface it might seem like a story of two people finding love amid all the chaos, but scratch beneath the surface and you see a whole lot more about toxic masculinity, objectification, and the erasure of a woman’s agency. James is celebrated as this charming, rebellious “bad boy” with a roguish smile, while Lily gets stuck playing the role of the sacrificial, moral compass woman—someone who exists largely to balance out and even redeem the male narrative. And honestly, that’s a problem.

James is shown as this complex, active character who’s constantly surrounded by friends, enemies, and drama. His life is dynamic and full of choices—even if those choices sometimes involve manipulation and deceit. He’s the kind of guy who can easily slip out of confinement with his Invisibility Cloak, leaving Lily behind in a narrative that, over time, turns her into a background figure. This dynamic isn’t accidental; it’s reflective of how our culture often values male agency over female independence. Lily, on the other hand, is repeatedly reduced to her relationships with the men around her. Instead of being a person with her own dreams, opinions, and friendships, she becomes a symbol—a kind of emotional barometer for how “good” or “bad” a man is. Her character is used to validate the actions of others, which means her individuality gets smothered under the weight of a trope that’s all too common in literature: the idea that a woman’s worth is measured by her ability to tame or save a troubled man.

This isn’t just about a lack of depth in Lily’s character; it’s also about how her portrayal reinforces harmful gender norms. Lily is depicted as this kind of sacrificial mother figure—a person whose primary virtue is her selflessness, her willingness to suffer and sacrifice for the sake of others. While selflessness is often celebrated in women, it’s a double-edged sword when that selflessness is the only thing we see. Instead of having her own narrative, her role is defined by how much she gives up, not by what she contributes or the inner life she leads. And it’s not just a narrative oversight—it’s a reflection of a broader cultural pattern where women are expected to be nurturing, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the male characters who drive the action.

What’s even more frustrating is how Lily’s isolation is used to further the narrative of James’s redemption. Over time, we see Lily’s network of friends and her connections outside of James gradually disappear. It’s almost as if, once she falls in love, her entire world is meant to shrink around that relationship. And here’s where the feminist critique really kicks in: this isn’t a realistic depiction of a balanced, healthy relationship—it’s a story that subtly suggests that a woman’s fulfillment comes from being dependent on one man and his circle, rather than cultivating her own identity. Meanwhile, James continues to be portrayed as this larger-than-life figure who’s got a whole world beyond his romantic entanglement, a world filled with vibrant interactions, rivalries, and a legacy that extends beyond his relationship with Lily.

Another point worth mentioning is the way in which the narrative seems to excuse James’s less-than-stellar behavior. His manipulation, his lying, and his willingness to trick Lily into situations that serve his own interests are brushed off as quirks of a “bad boy” persona—a kind of charm that, in the end, makes him redeemable because Lily’s love is supposed to “tame” him. This kind of storytelling not only normalizes toxic masculinity but also puts an unfair burden on Lily. It’s like saying, “Look how amazing you are, you’re the only one who can fix him!” That’s a dangerous message because it implies that women are responsible for managing or even reforming male behavior, rather than holding men accountable for their own actions.

The imbalance in their character development is glaringly obvious when you compare how much more we learn about James versus how little we know about Lily. James is given room to be flawed, to grow, and to be complicated. His friendships, his rivalries, and even his mistakes are all part of what makes him a rounded character. Lily, however, is often just a name, a face in the background who exists mainly to serve as a counterpoint to James’s narrative. Her inner life, her ambitions, and her struggles are rarely explored in any meaningful way, leaving her as a one-dimensional character whose only real purpose is to highlight the moral journey of the man she loves.

It’s also important to recognize how this kind of narrative plays into broader cultural ideas about gender. When literature consistently portrays women as the quiet, isolated figures who are only valuable in relation to the men around them, it sends a message about what is expected of real-life women. It suggests that a woman’s worth is determined by how much she sacrifices or how well she can support a man, rather than by her own achievements or personality. This isn’t just a harmless trope—it contributes to a societal mindset that limits women’s potential and reinforces gender inequality. The way Lily is written reflects a kind of “tamed” femininity that’s supposed to be passive, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the active, adventurous masculinity that James represents.

At the heart of the issue is the lack of balance in their relationship as depicted in the texts. The idea that Lily “fell for” a man who was clearly not a paragon of virtue is problematic, but what’s even more problematic is how her role in the relationship is so narrowly defined. Rather than being seen as an independent character who makes choices and has her own voice, she is constantly portrayed as someone whose existence is meant to validate the male experience. Even when the texts mention that Lily had her own issues—like hating James at times or suffering because of the way their relationship unfolded—it’s always in a way that underlines her weakness compared to James’s dynamic, active presence.

Looking at the broader picture, it’s clear that this isn’t just about one fictional couple—it’s a reflection of how gender dynamics have long been skewed in literature. Male characters are given the freedom to be complex, flawed, and full of life, while female characters are often stuck in roles that don’t allow them to be fully realized. This isn’t to say that every story with a sacrificial female character is inherently bad, but it does mean that when a character like Lily is reduced to a mere symbol—a moral compass or a measure of male worth—it’s time to ask why and what that says about the society that produced that narrative.

So, what’s the way forward? For one, we need to start reimagining these relationships in a way that allows both partners to be fully fleshed out. Lily deserves to be more than just a side character or a moral benchmark; she should have her own narrative, her own dreams, and her own agency. And as much as it might be appealing to think of James as this redeemable rebel, it’s equally important to hold him accountable for the ways in which his behavior perpetuates harmful stereotypes about masculinity. A healthier narrative would be one in which both characters grow together, where mutual respect and equal agency are at the core of their relationship.

In the end, the story of James and Lily, as it stands, is a reminder of how deeply ingrained gender norms can shape the stories we tell. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of allowing toxic masculinity to go unchecked and of confining women to roles that don’t do justice to their full humanity. For anyone who’s ever felt frustrated by these imbalances, there’s hope in the idea of re-writing these narratives—of pushing for stories where both men and women are seen as complete, complex individuals. And really, that’s what literature should strive for: a reflection of the messy, beautiful, and often complicated reality of human relationships, where no one is just there to serve as a prop in someone else’s story.

Ultimately, if we can start imagining a world where characters like Lily aren’t just defined by their relationships to men, where their voices and stories are given as much weight as those of their male counterparts, then we can begin to chip away at the outdated tropes that have held us back for so long. It’s about time we celebrated the full spectrum of human experience—and that means giving women like Lily the space to shine on their own terms, without being constantly overshadowed by a “bad boy” narrative that has little to say about their true selves.

If you are a real-life pedophile, necrophile, or zoophile, you are not welcome in the proship community. Get out and create your own.

But doesn’t him saving the world (like defeating a whole Basilisk, always running, even at the tournament) plus the quidditch training he did, imply he was athletic? And people could even assume insanely. When he got put on the team it was because McGonagall saw his talent and potential. And it wasn’t even a full game. He was very talented (+ the boy who lived so people naturally gave him more attention) and athletic. Not in a buff macho way. Just in a strong, competent way.

So I think your original post is kind of wrong, that's what I wanted to say. But if you don’t see it then I suppose it's fine to leave it at that 🤷‍♀️

describing harry as "an insanely athletic man" while all he does is sit on a flying broom is crazy work