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17 June 2005 @ 08:48 pm
.:part iii:.  

.:continued from second post:.

 

Terry followed Lovebright into the classroom, which was a lot more colourful than it had been under any of its previous incumbents. Large diagrams of Dark Creatures adorned the walls, hanging side by side with floor-to-ceiling Expressionistic batiks described in pink, blue and gold. As Terry brushed past one, setting it to swinging, he checked the scrawled signature. It was, indeed, “B. Lovebright”.

Five or six bunches of Rejuvenating-Charm’ed sunflowers spilled from bright blue ceramic vases dotted about the long room. Lovebright’s desk was covered in a deep purple cloth, to which tassels had been affixed at every possible interval. Terry had wondered, in the uncommon moments when he wasn’t note-taking or concentrating on her lectures, whether Lovebright was taking décor tips from a genie.

Lovebright had gifted him with half-a-bar of chocolate, but Terry felt sated after three squares. With some reluctance, he approached her to return the rest.

“What I had was very filling,” he explained. Lovebright looked pleased. He tried to hand the chocolate -- neatly re-wrapped in foil -- back to her, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Nah, keep it. Plenty more where that came from.”

“Honeyduke’s?” guessed Terry. Lovebright looked even more pleased.

“Family recipe, actually,” she said. Terry was surprised, and looked it. “Yes -- I make it myself!”

“It’s fabulous,” said Terry, who was unstinting when it came to deserved praise.

Lovebright beamed. “I should have the recipe around somewhere. I give it out whenever people like my chocolate, although they tend to think that’s totally a bit over the top!”

Terry didn’t think so. “I’d love to have it, to experiment with,” he said. “I enjoy making potions, and they’re a bit like cooking.”

Lovebright looked like she could kiss him. Terry was glad she resisted the urge. She started delving into her files and, in the meantime, waved him over to a silk-lined cupboard.

It looked like a Victorian curiosity cabinet, but Lovebright had used it to stack books three- and four-deep. As Terry neatened them in preparation for the influx on the floor beside him, he realised why -- they were organised to hide from view the clearly Muggle, clearly non-Defence-related Mills and Boon novels in the back.

Terry’s lip curled in condescension. He’d often felt bad about the way Anthony and Stephen treated Lovebright, as if she were their personal pin-up instead of just a moderately capable teacher. However, he now thought that perhaps their opinion of her wasn’t wholly unwarranted. Mills and Boon, indeed! He beat down an urge to rip the offending titles out of the cabinet and heave them across the room. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was gag-worthy romances …

“I have totally been meaning to clear out that cabinet,” said Lovebright, from right behind him.

Terry started; he hadn’t even heard a footfall symptomatic of her approach. Despite the fact that her choice of footwear comprised cork-soled flip-flops with huge plastic flowers on the straps, she ghosted along as silently as a -- well, as a ghost.

“My sister dumped a load of books on me when she moved to Kuala Lumpur to find herself,” continued Lovebright. “Then I got the call from Alby--us and had to, like, haul all of them with me.” She spotted The Bought Bride and raised an eyebrow. “No wonder she was lost, reading that lot. Anything take your fancy, Terry? I know you’re a bit of a bookaholic. Oh, and I’ll bring you the recipe next class; I don’t seem to have a copy here.”

Terry nodded absently as his hungry eyes roved the shelves, his queasy feelings of hurt trivial in the face of his literary greed. The Mills and Boons aside, there were any number of rare books, as well as back-covers of specialist journals, that his erudite gourmet would love to have devoured.

However, when he spoke, he said, “Have you got anything on love potions?”

Lovebright giggled. “Do you need one?”

Terry bristled at the implied insult. When he spoke, his voice was short. “Not at all, I think they’re abominable. I have, on the other hand, come across some significant facts pertaining to them that I believe are worthy of further investigation.”

“Mmm, let me see,” said Lovebright, enthusiasm leaking from every rose-clogged pore. Her bangles jingled against each other and began to play Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini as she waved her hands. A second later, she tugged out five books in quick succession.

“These are the best ones,” she informed him. “Of course, they all deal with the topic from a Dark Arts perspective. Which is to say, they totally diss it.”

“So they should,” muttered Terry. His voice had not been quiet enough, it seemed, for he earned a third piercing look from Lovebright. Terry was starting to wonder if the make-up was actually a disguise for the fact that Lovebright’s default expression was actually an intelligent one.

“Not a fan, I take it,” she said. “You’ve obviously never been in love.” Her manner suggested that she was jesting, but her tone was serious.

Terry gaped. “What has that got to do with the fact that they’re immoral, not to mention illegal?”

Lovebright smiled. “Teenage crushes are almost worse than the real thing. I know there were times when I totally, like, would have killed to use a love potion on one of the boys I fancied.”

Terry’s voice was stiff as he spoke. “Fortunate for me, then, that I don’t find myself in the same situation. There are no boys on whom I’d care to use a love potion.”

“Of course not.” Lovebright was indulgent. “But you can’t tell me crushes aren’t as devastating for boys as they are for girls!”

Terry was indignant. “I don’t have a crush on anyone!”

Oh?” Lovebright sounded non-plussed. While he had her distracted, Terry thought it would be an excellent time to submit a request for a Restricted Section pass.

“I was wondering,” he said, feeling hesitant, “if you would be so kind as to oblige me in allowing me to access the Restricted Section of the library? I wish to borrow Most Potente Potions in order to further my research into love potions. It’s part of my work for the DA,” he added, in case this example of “Terry following your advice” would sway her any.

“I think I can find it in my heart to -- what was it? -- oblige you,” said Lovebright, grinning. She clattered over to her desk and Terry frowned, finding that her footsteps were clearly audible now. Perhaps it had just been that Terry had been in no frame of mind to pay attention to current events the last time.

Quills came from many birds, but this was the first time Terry had seen one fashioned from the feather of a flamingo. Lovebright spoke as she filled out the prerequisite slip, “I know that I can totally trust you to not go looking for the porn and stuff.”

“Er, yes.” Terry was uncomfortable, but in fact he’d never gone looking for it -- he’d just wanted to find out more about Kappas and there the Kama Sutra had been, literally jumping off the shelf with all the action going on between its pages.

Lovebright pushed the slip across the desk to Terry, somehow managing not to ruck up the fabric that spread across the wood. Terry was unsurprised to find she’d used pink ink.

“There’s a love potion in that, isn’t there? I remember, like, reading it when I was in school,” she mused, stroking her chin with her quill in a manner so reminiscent of Terry that he could only stare. What she said next only caused him to stare harder, trying to see beyond the glitter and sparkle and pink, but not succeeding very well. “The “Emotions and other dangers” chapter -- like, page 300 or so, right?”

“I believe so,” murmured Terry, who had occasion to ponder that no true bimbo was ever so completely paid-up to bimbo-hood. Everything about Lovebright, from her perfectly applied make-up -- Terry had heard Padma bemoaning her inability to replicate it -- to her shoes reeked of high-class boho hooker. However, Terry didn’t think that real high-class boho hookers actually did.

He felt very tired and there were sounds of chattering students filtering in from the corridor. Padma sat next to Morag in this class, so Terry took up his usual lone place at the front left desk.

By the time Padma and Michael entered, hand in hand, Terry had completed three pages of notes from the first of Lovebright’s books and almost didn’t notice them at all.

*~*

Terry had no call of nature to answer, but he shuffled over to the sinks in the toilets anyway, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. Not all the mirrors in Hogwarts talked, although they were all able to; this one was notorious for not doing so except in extreme cases. Terry wasn’t sure what the extreme cases were, but it sounded like times when boys came out of the cubicles in pairs. After hearing that, Terry hadn’t inquired further, although the general consensus was that the mirror found such incidents highly titillating.

He rested his arm against the wall beside the mirror and crushed his forehead into it. He had never felt so confused and conflicted in his life. Of course Padma had every right to go out with whomever she pleased; of course Michael was free to do the same. It was just that Terry wished they hadn’t chosen each other, and he didn’t know why he wished it.

He looked up in shock -- his pale, wide-eyed face stared back. A dull, boring face; a bookworm’s face, with a nose like a razor.

He couldn’t possibly fancy Padma, could he?

There came a soft scrape of wood and stone; in the mirror, Terry saw Harry Potter enter the bathroom with his head bowed. He looked up as Terry’s wristwatch clattered against the hollow porcelain of the sink; their gazes met in the mirror.

“Oh -- Terry. Hi,” said Harry. Terry couldn’t trust himself to speak; his head was whirling. He gave a brief nod in greeting.

“Um. I was meaning to say, you’re doing really well in the DA,” said Harry, scratching the back of his head. His wrist bones jutted out even more than Terry’s; if they’d been female, they probably would have been snapped up by a modelling agency before you could say “cocaine dependency”.

“Thank you,” said Terry. He still felt like it was a pat on the head, but it was a different sort of pat on the head than from, say, Anthony. Anthony thought he was better than everyone, which made such gestures automatically insulting. Harry had no interest in that sort of attitude, but the very circumstances of his birth elevated him even without taking into account his illustrious, if short, history.

“What’s Anthony’s problem with you?” Harry advanced; his purpose in visiting the place seemed forgotten and the look on his face was one of impassive inquisitiveness.

Terry shrugged. “If I could answer that, I’d probably know how to deal with it -- and I think it’s quite evident that I can’t do that, don’t you think?”

“Do you want me to say something to him?”

“Like what? Desist or I’ll chuck my shining armour at you?” Terry rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t turned to face Harry; for some reason it was a lot easier to converse with a reflection. You could imagine that it wasn’t a real person at all.

Harry looked startled. “I didn’t mean it like that --” he began.

“Look, Harry,” said Terry, feeling a trifle impatient and siphoning false courage from pretending Harry wasn’t really there, “you can’t just waltz in and fix six years’ worth of damage with a wave of your wand. If you go through with “talking” to Anthony, he’ll act deferential in your presence and inflict the brunt of his displeasure at having to do so on me. Trust me when I say you’ll only make things worse.”

Harry’s brows knitted together. “If you’re sure,” he said. It was evident that he thought Terry was half-cracked, whatever else he might be.

“I’m sure.” The reflection of Terry’s face bore a set expression. “You don’t have to save the entire world, Harry. Leave people some autonomy.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Harry’s voice was defensive.

Terry at last turned around, giving Harry the ghost of a smile. Terry’s borrowed bravura started to trickle away as he confronted Harry, whose hair was sticking up at the back and whose expression was one of earnest puzzlement.

“I don’t want your -- pity,” said Terry.

Something flashed deep in the depths of Harry’s glasses-clad eyes. For a moment, Terry thought it may have been kinship.

“You don’t have it,” said Harry.

“Thank you,” said Terry, for the second time. He headed for the door but was halted by Harry’s hesitant inquiry.

“Do -- do you know where Za-- Smith was? You know, on the first night of the DA? I -- well, I was going to ask, but --” Harry broke off, rubbing his wrist against the nape of his neck again. His cheeks were rather pink, but that could have been the light.

Terry looked back, his hand on the doorframe. Harry was chewing his lip. It was an unconscious gesture, because he only did it when he was worried or annoyed and Terry was sure he wouldn’t want to be displaying such sentiments for Zacharias’ sake. Harry was uniformly compassionate, of course, but in Terry’s opinion he really shouldn’t be wasting his anxiety on someone so obviously disdainful of it as Zacharias.

“We were in Divination the day before -- all the Houses are combined, because so few chose to take it to NEWT level, as you may know,” said Terry. “Anyway, Zacharias got detention. We had Professor Trelawney and he managed to set her favourite pack of Tarot cards on fire.” Terry paused, wondering whether the rest of the incident deserved the classification of “too much information”. “It turned out that he was, in fact, trying to get the Lovers to do something a little more intimate than hold hands.”

“The figures in Tarot cards move?” Harry sounded startled.

“Not all of them -- only hand-crafted packs, which are more expensive. For obvious reasons; having one’s Tarot read has the potential to be either disconcerting or ludicrous in its own right without the people on the cards wandering off for a smoke.”

“I never realised you took Divination at NEWT level,” said Harry, his tone disapproving.

“Is there a reason you should have realised?”

“But why?” Harry shook his head. “It’s such a woolly subject -- a “very imprecise branch of magic.”” He made inverted commas with two fingers of each hand, a trick Terry had always found to be intensely irritating. Zacharias was another person who did it a lot. “I -- I suppose I didn’t think you’d go for subjects that were so vague.”

Terry quirked an eyebrow. “You mistake me, Harry. I think Divination’s a load of bullshit. I’m quite interested in observing people’s reactions to it, however. Attending that class is an exercise in extreme sociology.”

“Oh.” Harry looked rather gob-smacked, but then again he so often did it was hard to ascertain whether this had anything to do with Terry’s revelations or not.

“Not to mention that you can’t be wrong in it,” added Terry, on impulse. “Just be ambiguous and predict tall dark strangers and winning love through adversity every time you do a reading or prediction, and you’re home safe.”

“Everyone wants tall dark strangers, do they?” snorted Harry.

“Well.” Terry cocked his head. “Some people prefer curvaceous blondes, obviously. It’s simple when you know the people concerned. You just base it all on what they experienced in the past and what you know of what they’d like to experience in future. Divination isn’t really about predicting the future; it’s about reassuring people that things happen for a reason.”

“Sometimes it’s not.” Harry’s words burned with an odd intensity. “Sometimes it really does tell the future.”

“Perhaps.” Terry shrugged. “A future, at best.”

“There’s only one future,” said Harry.

“Wrong,” said Terry. The words floated out, as unconscious as breathing. “There’s as many as you can imagine, and I can imagine, and everyone else in the universe can imagine.”

Harry smiled, but didn’t look convinced. “You do surprise me.”

“To be honest, I can’t say the same of you.” Terry took a deep breath. “Although your concern about people for whom you care nothing is admirable, I shouldn’t bother in future, if I were you. Most people are as unappreciative of it as Zacharias -- as I’m sure you’ve realised.”

“I think I have, a bit.” Harry eyed Terry speculatively. “Well, bye, Terry. See you in class.”

“Good bye, Harry.”

Terry wandered down the corridor towards the stairs -- he had Potions next. He hoisted his satchel over his shoulder, pondering what he knew of Harry Potter. Volatile, yes, but essentially a Good Person. Imagine wasting your time fretting over Zacharias Smith, though! Terry shook his head.

“Look out, losers!” a voice hollered from somewhere behind him. Terry flattened himself against the wall just in time; there was a whirlwind of colour and noise flashing past where he’d been, followed by a resounding crash.

Terry hurried forward; behind him, he heard the bathroom door slam open and the sound of clattering feet on the flagstones.

Zacharias Smith was emerging from a tangle of torn robes, bent metal and shredded wood. His face was covered in dribbling cuts and scrapes, but he was grinning like maniac who’d just found the keys to the pill cabinet. “It worked!” he announced to the world. He glanced about him, put a hand to his forehead and frowned when it came away red. “Well. Sorta,” he amended.

Terry dumped his satchel and fell to his knees beside the boy, who was clearly dazed. Zacharias submitted to having his wounds dabbed at with a Transfigured handkerchief, but when Harry strode up, trembling with rage, Zacharias seemed to become fully alert for the first time. He scowled, and Terry clucked his tongue; the movement had made the cuts bleed afresh.

“Hold still,” instructed Terry, “I’m going to try and close some of these scratches.”

Zacharias didn’t give any indication that he’d heard or that he approved, so Terry, grinding his teeth, began to perform a Repairing Charm on one of the smaller grazes. He wasn’t altogether sure if the Charm worked on skin, although he had an inkling that, in a squeeze, the intent and not the actual incantation was what counted.

When Harry at last spoke, Terry realised his delay had been in controlling a fountainhead of rage, which even now was springing leaks in every word Harry released. “Just what the hell did you think you were doing, Smith?”

“It worked.” Zacharias sounded elated and insufferably smug. Not to mention completely incomprehensible. “I charmed it and it worked and, well, once I stop it crashing -- but then again I was never good at that even back home --” He broke off with a ecstatic sigh.

Terry and Harry shared a look of long-suffering empathy.

“Here you go,” said Terry, in a tone of forced cheeriness. The Charm had worked, albeit leaving behind a messy contusion of skin, blood and tissue. No doubt Pomfrey would be able to spell it away, but at least Zacharias wasn’t bleeding over everything. “Can you stand?”

Zacharias didn’t reply, and his grin was definitely accelerating over the horizon of the Valley of Loon now. In an undertone, to Harry, Terry remarked, “I think he’d delirious, or concussed.”

“And here I was thinking that would be an improvement,” said Harry, sounding grim. However, when Zacharias made no move to get to his feet and Terry started to heave him vertical, Harry squatted down and looped one of Zacharias’ arms over his shoulders all the same.

Terry looked down at the twisted mess on the floor. He spotted a wheel, then another and another, and the remains of what had once been a lurid green skull sticker. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s -- or, well, it was -- a skateboard,” he said.

“A what?” Harry peered around Zacharias’ lolling head, looking startled.

“Yup, that’s right,” volunteered Zacharias. “Charmed for ultimate speed, dude! Lucky the wall was there, really.”

“You are insane,” pronounced Harry in tones of deep disgust.

“Ha, look who’s talking!” retorted Zacharias, his face squishing up into a most unpleasant expression. “Mr Killer Scar.”

“Nice,” said Terry. “Look, don’t mind him, Harry -- he’s definitely got a concussion.”

“Have not,” moaned Zacharias. “’m always hittin’ me head … gawd, I feel a bit sick …”

Harry had said nothing; when Terry chanced a glance at him, his face was set and his lips white from the effort of compressing them. It was with relief that Terry spotted the right tapestry -- yes, there was the ancient skull-and-crossbones symbol of the healing professions in the lower left-hand corner -- to take a short-cut to the hospital wing.

“This is --” he began, but Harry was quicker.

“I know,” he said, his lips quirking up about half a millimetre. “Look, I’ll take him from here, all right, Terry?”

“Um -- if you’re sure,” said Terry. In truth, Zacharias was very heavy and, of all the people in the world Terry would have chosen to play the Good Samaritan to, he could have come up with far better candidates for the role of the Robbed Jew. Harry nodded. Terry ducked out from beneath Zacharias’ limp arm, causing him to start toppling forwards. Harry grabbed him around the middle and Zacharias’ limp head drooped against Harry’s chest.

“Look, I’ll put a Levitation spell on him or something.” Harry was speaking quite fast, Terry noticed, but he must have been out of breath from the effort of holding Zacharias up. “Tell -- tell Snape where I am, okay?”

“I might leave out the part about the skateboard, though,” said Terry, raising his eyebrows. “Good luck.”

Terry trotted back down the corridor to fetch his satchel. He decided he’d imagined seeing, as he left, Harry momentarily burying his face in the almost-cataleptic Zacharias’ haystack hair.

*~*

Saul Jugson was standing with his back to the wall, whistling. The sound was quite clearly irritating the hell out of Lucius Malfoy, who was hunched over on an antique mahogany chair further down the hall. It was one of the reasons Saul was doing it; Lucius was nothing if not ridiculously easy to antagonise.

The door at the end opened, letting in the chill of an autumn breeze and a few atmospheric leaves. The effect was spoiled by Peter reaching down to slap at the soggy ends of his robes, to which bits of greenery were sticking with the obstinacy of glue-covered door-to-door salesmen.

“At bloody last!” snapped Lucius, rising in an impressive swirl of dark velvet robes. Saul, whose opinion of Lucius’ attire was that it presented a picture of someone who was blatant in not having the least idea of what real work was, rolled his eyes. For Saul, that counted as a mortal sin. If it weren’t for Lucius’ dirty millions, Saul would have thought he wasn’t worth the air he breathed.

Lucius was gliding down the hallway -- he never did anything so plebeian as stride -- and Saul thought it propitious to push himself away from the wall and follow. Lucius paused a few feet from Peter, who was looking at him in palpable apprehension.

“What kept you?” Lucius’ voice was curt; this was him at his menacing best, although his greatest powers of intimidation lay in the direct line he held to the Dark Lord’s ear. Despite these nice facts, Peter looked confused, or at least more so than he usually did.

“I -- I don’t understand, my -- sir,” he stuttered.

“It has been three weeks!” hissed Lucius.

Saul, who was less interested in melodramatic effects than Lucius, rubbed his nose as he watched Peter. The man looked genuinely bewildered; that was interesting. Saul didn’t know where he’d been. Even Lucius probably only knew the sketchiest details of his mission. The Dark Lord led his followers in a constant game of double-blind, so that the only one who knew everything about what was going on was the Dark Lord himself.

However, there was something about Peter’s plight -- something Saul could not have defined, even under the most exquisite torture -- that seemed almost familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was almost as if the knowledge had been designed to slide away as soon as Saul focused his mind on it. That, in itself, was also familiar.

Peter was looking up at Lucius, his eyes gleaming with ill-hidden terror. “But -- no!” he cried. “I was only there for one day! One night, if you count the the, the travelling! One day, I swear, that is all I spent!”

“Such lies, Pettigrew,” said Lucius, withdrawing his wand with whisper of silk against wood. He strolled around Peter, taking his time, so that when he faced him again Peter was a quivering wreck. He was mumbling the words “One day!” over and over.

Saul, for his part, was inclined to believe that Peter really did think he’d been away for that long. He didn’t have the intelligence to carry off such a splendid lie. Besides, this had to be part of the Dark Lord’s plan; he had not seemed especially irate of late, and if Peter had defected that would not be the case. This would not have occurred to Lucius, of course, but Saul was happy to let Lucius trip himself up.

“Perhaps we shall see if we cannot make you more -- talkative?” purred Lucius. Peter was actually twitching at this point. For a Gryffindor, and a Death Eater at that, Peter had a very low threshold for pain -- either physical or mental.

“Malfoy, I reckon the Lord wants to see ’im now,” opined Saul in a loud voice. Lucius looked highly irritated by this assertion, which was pleasing to Saul. “Reason being, he did say, ‘He’ll be back, and when he is, I want to see him immediately’. By which I take it the Lord wants ’im. Immejitly, like.”

“Thank you, Jugson,” said Lucius with clenched teeth. “Come, then, you worm. I’ll escort you to the Dark Lord. I’m sure he will be delighted to see you.”

Peter looked over his shoulder as he left, mouthing the words “One day” in mounting desperation. Saul watched them, picking his teeth.

An odd business, this.

A familiarly odd business.

~TBC~

 

A/N:I am indebted to gabbysun for providing me with the name of her favourite piece of music, "Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini". Otherwise, Lovebright's bracelets would have been playing "The Town I Loved So Well". Or the theme tune to Titanic. :)

 
 
Current Mood: curiouscurious
Current Music: "One Week", Barenaked Ladies
 
 
 
Insufferable, man.: sex godcynicalpirate on June 17th, 2005 04:17 pm (UTC)
You bitch, Michael was supposed to kiss TERRY.
Jesusgod I love you.

You, Betty, not Jesusgod. I can't review properly now, and I will be away tomorrow night, but OMFG. As they say, wowee zowee.

The plot! She twists, she turns. *dies*
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 18th, 2005 12:55 pm (UTC)
Re: You bitch, Michael was supposed to kiss TERRY.
I hope you have fun wherever it is. :) That really doesn't look like my idea of Robbie, you know! He's more like Michael (my idea of him, I mean.)
kabeyk on June 17th, 2005 04:46 pm (UTC)
Meanie. Again I am too tired to read it now! Wahhh! Will get up early especially. Mwah!

kxx
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 18th, 2005 12:58 pm (UTC)
Considering the low likelihood of there being a fourth chapter, I wouldn't hurry. :)
(no subject) - kabeyk on June 18th, 2005 04:32 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 18th, 2005 05:28 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - kabeyk on June 19th, 2005 01:59 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - kabeyk on June 19th, 2005 03:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 19th, 2005 10:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - kabeyk on June 19th, 2005 11:04 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 19th, 2005 11:59 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - kabeyk on June 19th, 2005 12:28 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 19th, 2005 12:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Minnowminnow_53 on June 18th, 2005 04:26 am (UTC)
Well, I thought I could see where that was going, but obviously I didn't... As CP says, the plot twists and thickens. Still enjoying it! Especially the skateboard!

^_^xx
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 18th, 2005 12:59 pm (UTC)
Thanks, dear. I was gonna post a link, but then I half-considered(am considering)turning off comments, so then I thought it could be a pointless exercise for you. :)
(no subject) - minnow_53 on June 18th, 2005 01:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 18th, 2005 01:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - margravine on June 18th, 2005 03:36 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 18th, 2005 05:27 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - minnow_53 on June 19th, 2005 01:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 19th, 2005 09:58 am (UTC) (Expand)
moocowmisconstrue on June 19th, 2005 02:30 pm (UTC)
Guh. I see that everyone is promising coherent reviews later but I will one up them and give you an incoherent review today! Er, well, maybe not one up but afore I forget.

*squeals because something was answered in the first paragraph, okay, not answered but alluded too and that is QUITE ENOUGH FOR ME. I'm patient* Wow, the Terry/Michael tension was ... I thought I was going to DIE!!! But then, then you have Padma/Michael and woe for my poor Terry. Does that mean their friendship is on the rocks? I liked how there was foreshadowing what with her spending time with Anthony & Co. except I didn't pick up on it because I was DISTRACTED by the funny book (teehee) and didn't anticipate it. Hooray for crazy plot turns that knock all the air out of you like an Apparation, but then make sense when you're back on solid ground and think about it. Huzzah!

For some reason my stupid brain doesn't remember Michael wanting to use a granite stone for the Redolent Charm but I love how you described the Moonstone being all glowy and sleepy Terry, which reminds me that I eschewed a nap for you and your fic so that was quite ironically cruel but I'll survive. Michael having seen more naked Terry than even Terry himself is obviously A SIGN OF SOMETHING like their meaning to be to-get-her for-ever.

Describing Lovebright as a "high-class boho hooker" for some reason really cemented my "inner picture" of her and there was some intruging mentions of her not being floozy. I hope she figures into the story more because she is lots of fun. And haha on those books and Terry's reaction. Are these Muggle books perchance because I may have to go scour the library systems for a copy. ;) All my books are trashy indeed. Well, not all, just 60%.

The Harry/Zacharias is so wibbley-stomach turning and I love how you're sliding in these hints without being all neon-sign blatant, because that's no fun. Does Smith return those feelings? Was the skateboard just a stunt to get Harry's attention? Will there be a friendship between Harry and Terry because they had that fleeting moment of kinship what with the whole "no pity" thing? Okay, probably no for the last one but what about the first two? They're still probable, right?

Who is the Saul character, did we meet him before and my holey brain forgot or is he someone knew? Was he one of those people that The Mysterious Guy had mentioned as part of the "original gang?"

When's chp 4 coming and should I friend this journal in antici-pation? :) If so may I?
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 20th, 2005 02:33 pm (UTC)
I'll start with the last first, because I'm contrary. :) Of course you may friend! I don't have a "policy" because I reckon people can make up their own minds about tha, but I generally friend back when people indicate that's what they'd like!

It is so, so fun to see someone enjoying this to this extent. And you picked up on EVERY hint I threw in, that's like wow.

And yes, I looked up Google for Mills and Boon titles! So that is a real one. I wanted to find one of the silliest, no offence. :) Lovebright's part is one of the few I'm sure is going to be rather important, as is the skateboard ...

*rolls eyes* You gotta love people "promising" reviews. A comment is a review!
yinyangscurseyinyangscurse on June 22nd, 2005 09:01 pm (UTC)
ooh love love love.

love the almost terry/michael
love that you made me go 'wait michael is supposed to be kissing terry, not terrys GIRL best friend' *holds out hope that a love potion was involved in their relationship but that means it was probably michael which still means no t/m *le sigh**
love the so subtle but so blatant harry/smith
love terrys biblophilia
love lovebright

just all around love for the story and you.
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 24th, 2005 02:39 pm (UTC)
I'm glad that it inspired such love, and it's been spread around. I love you back!!
(Anonymous) on June 23rd, 2005 10:57 am (UTC)
Brill
Very very nice...I just read chapter two as well...also filled with adorable Terry, tension, and what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-him-snogging-the-wrong-person Michael. Of course, the witty lines send me into bursts of laughter a regular intervals....

I just found this here, as I (being, of course, the laziest person in the world) didn't check your author page from Fictionalley, and instead came here.

"Terry trotted back down the corridor to fetch his satchel. He decided he’d imagined seeing, as he left, Harry momentarily burying his face in the almost-cataleptic Zacharias’ haystack hair."

Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. And here I thought you'd *insert gasp here* forgotten!?

Once again, brill.

~Just A Reader
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 24th, 2005 02:41 pm (UTC)
Re: Brill
*beams* It's nice to see people from FA on lj, and not just because they almost rhyme.:) I'd hoped the Zarry wasn't too in-your-face, so it's good that it doesn't seem to be.
amazing vaguely humanoid armadillopersoncryptid on July 20th, 2005 03:36 am (UTC)
(For some, severely belated comments are one-time events, and preferably to be avoided. For me, they are a way of life.)

Heh, finally got around to it (I've got some extra time now that I'm too paranoid to read any new entries where people may make HBP allusions... I really do hope I'll get it today). It's quite as good as I expected, and then some. I really like the chatty tone -- it's a bit like a cross between Pratchett and Austen at times. Or maybe I'm just raving mad and too illiterate to make more accurate comparisons, what do I know.

Anyway, love it, what with the exploding cauldron and the shirtlessness and the Lovebright. 'Terry was starting to wonder if the make-up was actually a disguise for the fact that Lovebright's default expression was actually an intelligent one.' I like her, yes I do. :D

Poor hapless Terry. I wish I didn't identify with him as much as I do. ;P

I must say I love Terry's and Padma's interactions; it's not too common for people to write actual friendships between genders without it being either love-in-denial or like-brother-and-sister. Hurrah for nuanced relationships! (I only hope it's not doomed with doomy doomness now after the Michael/Padma business (and I just misspelled Padma as Panda, how's that for mad l33t skills?).)

The Voldy/Peter/Evan subplot/sideplot is rather intriguing, although I can't say I know what's going on. Which is probably intended.

... Er, I'd love to leave a more detailed comment, but I have to run now. The mail just arrived and there's a package for me. Eeeeee!
Silhouette in a Window Framecelerywench on September 12th, 2005 05:05 pm (UTC)
I can not even begin to tell you how much I adore this story, only that I do, and I have such love for Michael/Terry and the lovely LOVELY undercurrent of Harry/Zach.
I will also love you forever and ever for wet chested half naked Micheal. ::Eyes glaze over::
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Dumble fuscoradh on September 13th, 2005 12:47 pm (UTC)
Hey, thanks! Now I see why you were asking if it'd panned. I'm sorry about that, mate. :(
(no subject) - celerywench on September 13th, 2005 01:52 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on September 15th, 2005 11:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
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every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Dinosaur: attracted to musicscoradh on March 31st, 2008 07:04 pm (UTC)
I wish I could say I'd finish it, but I can't - even for you. I've been pulling out of HP (shh) for about two years now, so it's all I can do to keep up with my current fics. >.>
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(no subject) - scoradh on March 31st, 2008 09:55 pm (UTC) (Expand)
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(no subject) - scoradh on March 31st, 2008 11:10 pm (UTC) (Expand)