Chapter II: Brave New World
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. A cloudy, grey-blue sky, let through a few pleasant rays of sunlight. One such ray fell right through a spotless, stainless, sparkling clean window, to arrive in a spotless, stainless, sparkling clean living room. In fact, the whole house could be described as spotless, stainless, and sparkling clean. One Mrs Petunia Dursley, lady of the house, laboured tirelessly to maintain it in these pristine condition.
It was a rather stereotypical household. The father; Vernon Dursley. He worked hard to earn money, at which he excelled with his cut-throat dog-eat-dog tactics. An avid reader of Atlas Shrugged, he would be, if only he lived in the USA.
The mother; Petunia Dursley. She worked hard to run the household - which came down to 'clean everything, cook food, and clean some more' - and exchanged the necessary pleasantries with the neighbours and other acquaintances - but spying on and gossiping about others were two other important activities she often engaged in.
The son; Dudley Dursley. He worked hard to... Well, he didn't work hard at all. Truth to be told, he was a fat and spoiled child. The opposite was true for the last member of this household. A member who didn't fit in this household at all. One who was no Dursley, nor shared their ideals and values, nor cared much for them really. This member was the scrawny survivor of Riddle's attempt at murder, and hidden hero of the British magical world. Harry James Potter. The boy who lived. The boy everyone thought was dead. The boy who knew nothing about his heritage. But that was about to change.
For on this Saturday afternoon, a ray of sunlight warmed Vernon's lap as he was watching television from his favourite spot, right next to the window. Let everyone peek into his rich-yet-modest household, let everyone see how content he and his family were. Then, three things happened; a cloud passed in front of the sun, a commercial interrupted the programme he was watching, and, most importantly - although he didn't know so yet - the phone rang.
Annoyed at all these minor annoyances, he stood up and waddled over towards the phone. As man of the house, it was his duty to deal with anyone who called his family, of course.
"Vernon Dursley." He stated in a neutral voice. It could be his sister Marjorie Dursley - Marge - in which case he'd be genuinely nice, for his sister was one of the very few people who deserved that. It could be his boss, in which case he'd be nice, if only to improve his career. It could be an acquaintance of his wife, in which case he'd be nice, to improve their social life. It could be a salesman, in which case he'd shut him up and spend the next hour ranting about stupid salesmen to nobody in particular. The person calling was none of these though. And given a thousand years, Vernon would never ever have guessed who - or what - was calling him now.
"Mister Dursley. I work for the Department for Education, and I'm calling you regarding a boy you, according to our information, have taken into your household. One Harry James Potter."
"Who wants to know?" Vernon replied in a gruff voice. He didn't like these government types, oh no, always drafting annoying laws to further restrict an upstanding citizen, always stealing money from hard-working taxpayers, always regulating what was and what wasn't allowed... No sirree, no big government for him!
"Regulus Black, sir. Mister Potter's parents have enrolled young mister Potter in an exclusive boarding school upon his birth. I would like to come over to your house tomorrow afternoon and discuss this unique opportunity with you, if that is acceptable?"
He froze. An eternity passed. He blinked. Another eternity passed. His mouth went dry. Too dry to talk. Yet another eternity passed. His mouth suddenly grunted - or attempted to do so. His arm moved of its own accord, and jerkily put down the phone.
But he didn't consciously notice any of this. He only noticed a major headache. A battering ram pounding against his mind's door. One battering ram, a dozen elephants, a thousand foot, battering and bruising the insides of his head. Cheering. Singing. And with every successful strike, a cheer; "Freak!"
"Freak!"
"Freak!"
It was a sombre Saturday afternoon. A cloudy, grey sky, blocked out the warmth and comfort of the sun. Just like a certain phone call had blocked out any notion of positivity or normality from the troubled brain of one Vernon Dursley. Fortunately, as the saying goes; 'a misery shared is a misery halved'.
"Pet." Vernon spoke up, arising from his slumber. He had been sitting like a vegetable on his favourite couch next to the window for at least an hour. Aware of only three thoughts, endlessly whirling through his head like a violent, malevolent maelstrom; 'phone', 'freak', 'boy'. His unconsciousness must have detected his wife entering the house.
"Pet." A magic word, a metaphoric atomic bomb, to crush the hordes besieging his mind. Phone-freak-boy-BOOM! With that word, his consciousness returned to him. His mind rebooted, free of armies, free of war. He was back. Vernon Dursley, human, and most certainly not a vegetable - nor a freak!
"Yes my - Oh, Vernon! Is there something wrong?" She had rushed over to him the moment she entered the room, and was now mollycoddling him, eyes fraught with worry. In spite of himself, he smiled.
"Yes." He said in such a monotone voice that Petunia grew even more distressed. "Yes, my pet. There was a phone call. Phone. FREAKS! Boy!" He was relapsing in the old pattern. But no! He was the man of the house, he had to be strong, for his family if not for himself.
'BOOM!' went the table as Vernon's huge - and powerful! - fist came down upon it.
"The freaks! They called! The boy! Boarding school!" He snapped the words as if they were orders. Petunia's face grew in horror. "They're taking him! Tomorrow!"
"Oh my, Vernon!" Petunia shrieked, but then steeled herself. Ten years ago, she had decided. Today would be the culmination of her efforts. After today, she could only hope.
The freaks. The magicals. She had been content to ignore them, at first. Pretend that they did not exist. Although there had always been the repressed memories of her sister, who had been claimed by the magicals to live a fairytale of happiness and love. Oh, yes, she had been jealous, she could admit that. But then she had heard whispers of a dark lord, of an evil person called Tom Riddle. She had discovered that her dear sister hadn't voluntarily abandoned her so-called inferior, disgustingly normal family after all. No, the freaks had corrupted her, brainwashed her. Indeed, why else would her sister side with the freaks and their bigotry against normal folk?
Apparently, there had been a guy, Tom Riddle, who had used his magical powers against the freaks. He had seen the bigotry and prejudice of his fellow freaks. But he had realised that it was wrong. That normal people weren't inferior. That magical powers were caused by a freak mutation or something. He had seen all that, and he had acted. Peacefully, at first, but he achieved nothing. Of course, the freaks had convinced themselves of being oh so special, of being a superior breed. Why would they give up the comfort of knowing that they were better? So he had resorted to violence. And her own sister, descended from the very people Tom Riddle was fighting for, had chosen the side of bigotry and prejudice. That, Petunia knew, was impossible. Yes, she had been a self-centred freak, and yes, she had fully bought into the great lie of magical superiority, but Lily would never turn against her family. The obvious conclusion was that the freaks had brainwashed her.
And come to think of it, how could a whole society of freaks stay hidden? Again, the answer must be mind control and brainwashing. And why did they even stay hidden? Did those arrogant, egocentric freaks not realise how much they could help the common people? Were they that egoistic? Of course they were. They knew they were freaks, and their society as a whole must have a gigantic inferiority complex to combat. Hence the bigotry, hence the egocentrism. Because how better to combat the knowledge of being a bunch of freaky mutants than by convincing themselves they stood above the normal people? This all fit with what Petunia knew of psychology, and as such, she knew it was true.
But she would unearth this great lie, she would rid the world of bigoted freaks, all through her nephew; Harry James Potter. A freak, a mutant, no doubt. And now, the freaks had called. Now, they would come to claim her nephew.
She snapped out of her musings and saw that Vernon had calmed down. He turned his head sideways, locked eyes with her, and took a deep breath.
"Regulus Black." He spat. "Weren't his parents friends with a Black? Why have they never come to pick him up?" A bitter silence followed. "Hmpf. Freaks." He grumbled. Petunia waited patiently for him to finish. After a few more seconds, he said exactly what Petunia had thought he would. "We'll have to tell the boy, won't we?"
She nodded. "Yes." She gathered her thoughts. "Yes, Vernon, we will have to tell him." More was said and implied with those words than anyone could know.
"After dinner." Vernon decided. He was a man of action and quick decisions. He hated unknown factors, new variables, of which he had no control. This was tough for him, a man valuing stability. All he wanted was a peaceful, quiet life, caring for his family. Why couldn't society - be it freaks or the government - leave him alone?
He didn't deal well with uncertainty and inaction. So, after dinner. He'd tell the boy everything. It was a dangerous world out there, especially with the freaks. And yes, the boy was a freak himself. But by God, the boy was not merely a freak, he was his freak, and they wouldn't brainwash the boy to turn him against his family. Vernon Dursley would see no harm befall his family. Feeling a bit better, he stalked away, wearing a determined grin.
"Boy! Come here!" His uncle boomed through the house. It was around seven o'clock, and while the house was usually occupied by two boys, only one of them was usually referred to as 'boy'. Only one of them happened to be home, too, sitting in his bedroom upstairs. The other one was playing outside with his friends.
Harry Potter looked up from his work; he had been drawing a large, fire-breathing dragon. He wasn't really talented, but he enjoyed drawing anyway. Without putting his work away - his family, and especially uncle Vernon, didn't like being kept waiting - he went downstairs to the living room, where both his uncle and his aunt sat down.
"Sit." Said his uncle, and sit he did.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Nervously, he looked around, trying to find out if he was in trouble by reading his aunt's and uncle's face. All he saw were unmoving, unblinking faces, resembling statues. No thick, throbbing vein on his uncle's head - which was a very good sign! - only steely determination. At last, his uncle spoke.
"Boy, Harry, we... We have to tell you something." With these words, the dam broke and words rushed out of his uncle's mouth at the speed of light. "Yesterday, they called, to kidnap you, to take you to their school so you can become one of them, and -"
"They... You... You are a freak. They are freaks. Wizards. Witches. Toads and potions and wands and Hogwarts!" Interjected Petunia, cutting Vernon off. In the ensuing silence that followed, both took a moment to recollect themselves. Harry, meanwhile, sat dumbfounded on the couch and was pretty sure his aunt and uncle had gone insane.
"You're a wizard." Petunia started again. "Just like your father and mother. My sister. A witch. They went to a school called Hogwarts in Scotland. They will come to take you, to teach you their freakish ways in their castle. But it is so much worse than that..." She took a deep breath.
"Harry, normal people are not allowed to know that a whole society of freaks - of magical people - exists. Children are taken away from their normal families to be raised in this magical world. Families never see their children again. Kidnapped. Stolen by freaks. And sometimes, they even brainwash people. To make them forget about magic. To make them forget about their children, even."
"So... My mother..." Harry began.
"Yes! Kidnapped and brainwashed!" At this point, Petunia was almost screaming in righteous fury. "When she turned eleven, a letter came, informing us about magic and all that. And then she was gone. Taken. She came back during the summer holidays and Christmas. But the only thing she did was talk about turning rats into toads. She had no interest for normal people anymore. They were irrelevant. Weak and useless." Another deep breath.
"And then she came home one day, and we learned that a man - Riddle - was fighting against the brainwashing and kidnapping. He, despite being a wizard, fought for equality between normal people and magicals. No family should be ripped apart by those freaks. And your mother, my sister, she fought against this Riddle. She betrayed her whole family. Your parents died fighting against him. But you... You survived, Harry."
Harry had no comment, enthralled by this fantastical tale. After a short moment, Petunia continued.
"You were put on our doorstep with only a letter. Your parents had been killed, you had survived, and Riddle was gone. Now, we are a proper family, we accepted you. We couldn't let you freeze to death in the cold November night. We have given you a home, we have fed you, clothed you - haven't we been good for you?"
Harry nodded. Yes, they favoured Dudley over him, and he had to do some chores, but they did care for him in their own way. He had a bedroom, he had food and drinks, he had his art, or he could watch TV, or go outside. He didn't love his life, but he didn't hate it either. He knew some children had to starve because there was no food, and others were abused by their own parents. He wasn't. Eleven years old Harry was quite mature.
"But we're afraid Harry. Every day, we wonder if it was the right decision. Shouldn't we have taken you to an orphanage? It would have been so much easier. No freaks to worry about. No threats to our family. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Will you be kidnapped? Will we be brainwashed to forget all about you? We do not know. And we're afraid." From a passionate high, ranting about Riddle and the sheer psychopathy of the magicals, to a whispering low about her family, and indeed, her life.
"But don't worry boy!" Vernon jumped into the conversation. "They won't get us! We're Dursleys - even you - and family's most important! Those freaks may have brainwashed lesser families into insanity wards, but not us! They may have reduced lesser men to criminal filth and poverty-struck beggars, but not us! We Dursleys stick together! And if they ever harm you, boy, you tell me and I'll make sure the freaks will never do it again, mark my words, by God!"
With that, Vernon stood up and stalked away. Petunia looked at Harry, who sat frozen and shell-shocked on the couch. A thin smile of affection formed on her face.
"Go to bed, Harry."
Dazed and confused, he walked upstairs.
He hadn't slept much, the past night. Who would expect him to; he had just been told the most fantastically insane tale anyone could think up - and that in itself proved its truth, didn't it? A lie so outrageous, so unbelievable, that it couldn't be a lie. So he was a wizard. He could do magic! How exciting is that? Magic, wizards, witches... Limitless possibilities. Soon, he could do everything he'd ever want to do! Well, he'd have to go to a school called Hogwarts, but there he'd learn all about magic, his aunt had told him. His parents had gone to this school too, and his mother had been a 'Head Girl', which sounded important. He had asked lots of questions throughout the whole day, about magic, school, his parents, everything he could think of.
His questions had revealed less wondrous aspects as well; there was a darker side to the fairytale of magic. His parents had died fighting in a magical war. A war against Riddle - what a weird name. Riddle had fought for equality and freedom or something. He didn't really understand, because that sounded good. But he did understand that kidnapping children, destroying families, killing people... That was wrong. It sounded like wizards viewed those who weren't wizards a bit like how humans viewed animals. And if all that his aunt and uncle had told him was true...
But soon, he would see for himself. This Regulus Black had said he'd meet them today. To be honest, Harry was way too excited to worry or to be scared. Magic must be absolutely amazing! He hadn't eaten much and had spent his time pacing through the living room until his uncle had sent him upstairs to his room. But come on, he, an almost eleven year old child, apparently possessed superpowers! Awesome! Who could blame him for his restlessness?
And then, looking out of his room's window for anyone approaching the backyard, the front door's bell rang. In seemingly less than a second, Harry had raced downstairs, but a quick look from his uncle convinced him to wait inside the living room, while his uncle opened the door. Another quick look, this time from his aunt, convinced him to actually sit down instead of pacing around.
"Hello, sir." Grumbled his uncle. While his uncle had been in a state of absolute panic upon learning his and his family's predictable and peaceful life would be shaken up by something so alien, foreign, and freakish as magic, his aunt had apparently calmed him down. It still took all of his self-control, and he really didn't like it, but once he had realised the inevitability of it all, he had adapted remarkably fast. After all, magic had now become a fact of life for him, and he could work with facts. He just couldn't handle uncertainty and unpredictability. So while he still didn't like it one bit, in roughly a day's time, he had come to accept it, and had resolved to learn everything there is to know about it.
"Mister Dursley, I presume?" Asked the man at the door. He was, in one word, a gentleman. His hair was short and pitch black, while his face was thin and tall. Aristocratic, too, defined by a thin nose and dark blue eyes. This man knew he was part of the elite, yet he was humble and modest enough, it seemed.
"Are you... -" Vernon cleared his throat. "A... A-"
"I am Regulus Arcturus Black." The man gave a bemused smile that was perhaps a tad condescendingly. "And yes, I am a wizard." Vernon looked the man over. Good clothes. Rich ones. But his attitude wasn't haughty or superior, like his wife had warned him for. He nodded.
"Very well. Come inside." After quickly looking around to see if any neighbours could have seen or heard anything - he saw nobody - he closed the door behind the two of them. Regulus walked inside the living room at once, without bothering to put off his shoes, which earned him a disapproving glare of Petunia.
"Ah, you must be Petunia? Regulus Arcturus Black, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He extended his hand, which Petunia shook warily, before noticing her glare. "Don't worry ma'am, my boots won't leave any stains or harm the floor in any other way." Her glare froze for a split-second before she nodded uncertainly towards a chair.
"Is that magic? Sir?" Harry spoke up. Regulus turned around to face him.
"Why, yes it is. And you must be..." He paused for a moment, taking in the full implications and gravity of this event. What was meant to be a question came out as a whisper full of awe. "Harry Potter."
"Yes, sir." Harry beamed. "So I can do magic?"
"Oh yes, mister Potter. And if your parents are any indication, why, you will make a fine wizard."
"Really? You knew my parents?" Harry's expression changed from happy and excited to one of wondrous amazement. Someone else who had known his parents!
"Not very well, I'm afraid, but..." Regulus hesitated. They had discussed what exactly he would say, of course, but it all depended on the execution. Oh, he was sure the child would be absolutely delighted to hear everything he could tell about the Potter family and the magical world as a whole, and he was also sure they didn't have to fear the child turning against them. But who could predict what would happen at Hogwarts? When the child would be exposed to the Malfoys - or worse, supporters of Riddle? No, better to give Harry Potter a push in the right direction.
"My brother is your godfather, mister Potter." There. He had said it. "He was the best friend of your father."
"Is he alive? Why hasn't h- Can I meet him? Did he fight against Ri-" A maelstrom of questions poured forth out of Harry's mouth.
"Why are you here, mister Black?" Snapped Petunia, intentionally interrupting Harry.
"Later, mister Potter." Said Regulus. So Riddle was a touchy subject, seeing as Harry had been interrupted? No doubt the muggles had filled Harry's head with their own half-truths. Indeed, it would make sense for them to support Riddle, if they only knew the basic picture. He'd have to work at dispelling these warped facts, if not outright lies. Better to do that away from the Dursleys, anyway. Thank you, Petunia.
"I am here to introduce you to the magical world, and if your aunt and uncle do not object, take you to Diagon Alley, where we will buy your school supplies." Gazing at the muggles, he continued. "Seeing as you all evidently know about the magical world, I could take mister Potter to Diagon Alley right now, if you would allow it?"
"Yes, that is fine. When will he be back?" Responded Petunia.
"Before dinner. Although, if you wish, I could ta-"
"No, he will eat dinner with us." Snapped Petunia with a surprisingly venomous voice. He chuckled silently; he had been about to propose taking Harry to meet his godfather, Sirius, and have dinner together to allow them to get to know each other. Of course, the muggles wouldn't have wanted that, but forbidding Harry from going would mean losing control over him. Of course, they were merely postponing the inevitable; almost all muggleborns ended up permanently breaking contact with their muggle family. He wasn't entirely unconvinced there wasn't some force at work at Hogwarts, helping this process along.
"Very well then. Shall we go, mister Potter?" The boy bobbed his head and raced towards his shoes and coat. A moment later, he reappeared, fully dressed.
"Hold my hand. Tightly. Don't let go, and don't be afraid." With these words, the duo disappeared, just as Vernon realised something.
"... But who's going to pay for all this, eh?" The two Dursleys sat in silence, one wondering about the speed of this... Thinly-disguised kidnapping, and pondering the implications. The other had more concrete worries, for he imagined himself sitting in tons of debt. Both agreed however; never trust a freak.
It was a luxurious and grand room. Warm and cosy, too, with a floor made out of very expensive Firewood; orange and brown wood that gave off an unnoticeable golden and auburn red glow. Unnoticeable, but it gave the whole house a warm and fiery hue. It was a rich house too; the living room was huge and dotted with fauteuils, sofas, and couches, with small tables stationed at various places. The floor was covered by carpet, the walls sported various tapestries, and from the ceiling hung banners. All exceedingly comfortable and exceedingly luxurious. In the centre of this imposing room hung a crystal chandelier, which's matte white colour was the sole exception to the predominant red-orange-gold-brown colour scheme. While it was called a living room, its size and wealth exceeded that of most pureblood ballrooms.
Occupying this room were two old men. One had a young and rounded face with plucks of bright, white hair. The other had an older and wrinkled face with a long white beard. Both wore a dark red cloak, the first with open circles of a vibrantly bright red colour, the latter with stripes of a darker red colour.
"And why do you think I would deign myself to join your little... Organisation?" The last word was clearly said with disdain.
"We have similar goals. Toge-" The man was clearly beginning a dramatic speech of hope and promise and doom and despair, but he was cut short by the other.
"Similar, but not the same. I aim for something grander than you and yours. You're all too uncreative. Too cliché. Too low." Dismissive and insulting, but the man didn't seem to mind.
"Perhaps, but we have different goals as well, and yet-" He attempted to start anew, but was cut off again.
"Which will lead to infighting and the destruction of your ploys and plans."
"Compatible goals, although the specifics will be discussed in due time, after we have removed the opposition. I do believe your goals would be compatible with ours.
"Perhaps. I repeat, why? Why do I need you? What do I stand to gain? Siding with the mundanes - or even Riddle - would aid me much more in accomplishing my goals."
"Riddle is dead." Mumbled the man flatly, for the first time losing his theatrical tone and flair of dramatics. He was met with a blank face, shortly followed by a snort. The man chose to ignore the obvious falsehood.
"Give the mundanes a century, and they'll have invented immortality. Give them two, and mankind will have ceased to exist, to be replaced with gods. What do I stand to gain from joining you? Why would I do so, when the mundanes, and by extension, Riddle, will offer me a surer path towards my goals?"
"I see... So you have joined Riddle and betrayed us all?"
"No." The man laughed. "Riddle is... Amusing. But he will never truly succeed. He is an idealist, whereas I am a realist." He took a deep breath. "What you do not understand, is that you all are so far below me that it's like watching a few ants dance around. You are firmly entrenched into the magical world, and you lack the necessary historical outlook and perspective to be successful. But what can magic offer me? I know everything. And the magical world is stagnant, backwards, and decadent. It is the height of irony that dark lords and conservatives have caused the most progress in the British magical world, but it isn't much better elsewhere. Whereas the mundanes invent something revolutionary almost every day. Again, I merely have to wait a little longer - and you would have me wait more, were I to join you."
"Very well. There is a prophecy." In response, the other sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Why do you presume I am unaware of this?"
"The prophecy calls for you to join us."
"That is one interpretation. Of course, it is a risky one. You would cast us all as dark lords. You would be dooming yourself and your... Partner. Clearly, you expect to be able to best me, otherwise you would never have extended this offer." He smirked. "How foolish you are." Their gazes locked, silently judging each other.
"Not dark lords in a literal way. I have a particular talent for reading prophecies. 'Dark' would mean we operate covertly, as we already do. 'Lord' would mean we are powerful, as we already are." The other man chuckled lightly.
"Three will fight three, three must lose, one can win. You know the words. You know the risks. You cannot hope to stand against me. But a prophecy guaranteeing and hastening my victory is very convenient. If you are willing to lose, if you want to offer me unlimited power..." The man looked once more into the eyes of the other. "Why, I will gladly accept."
Author's note:
I found the time to write some stuff again. Well, usually I write a few paragraphs at a time, if I don't get distracted by schoolwork (ugh).
So the Dursleys are at least halfway decent here. Petunia, of course, doesn't know the full story about Riddle, and views him as just someone who stood up against the bigotry of the magicals. A good guy, fighting the evil freaks who see themselves as superior to the normal people and all the bigotry that comes with such an attitude.
In canon, Lily just abandoned her normal family in favour of magic. She was always the more important one - because she was almost never home - and everyone was always far more interested in the magic tricks of Lily than in anything concerning Petunia. That is how Petunia views it, and her jealousy turned into hatred over the years.
Here, it is worse; Lily outright betrayed her family by fighting against Riddle, and in effect, fighting for - not against - the freaks that would gladly exploit or enslave the normal people. That, Lily would never condone, Petunia knows. So obviously, the magicals must have brainwashed Lily (the fact that Petunia's information about Riddle could be incomplete or wrong has never entered her mind). And yeah, that fits; how do you keep a whole society hidden and secret, a society that is full of people who have family outside said society? Brainwashing. Mind control.
And the full implications of that... Well, the Dursleys view magicals as something worse than the Greek gods. They toy around with normal people, breaking families here, driving people insane there, removing some memories left and accidentally reducing people into poverty right... Great power, no responsibility. Of course they're afraid. They do not hate Harry and they treat him well enough, but they do hate what he represents; an eternal threat to their very lives. Also, the fact that Riddle existed proves not all freaks are bad, so Harry isn't inherently ruined. In canon, Petunia never looked beyond her jealousy-turned-hatred, and thus never thought of all this.
So Lily's faults weren't actually Lily's faults, but the fault of those other freaks. Freaks who turned her against her family. And now they will do the same to her nephew? Not if it's up to Vernon or Petunia; both are very traditional people who view betraying one's family as one of the most despicable acts one can commit. They may not like Harry, but he is part of their family.
And oooh, did I just mention a prophecy? Next up - if it wasn't obvious - Diagon Alley.
As usual, thanks for all the reviews and favourites and whatnot! Including the snarky one-liners and flamebait, yes; it still shows me what people think about my work, although in a crude, non-constructive, and probably rather useless way. I mean, you can say 'this sucks', but I can hardly do anything about it without knowing what sucks. Still, a review is a review!