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07 June 2005 @ 09:21 pm
.:part iii:.  

And then there were three.

.:continued from second post:.

There was something extremely soothing about Potions, Terry decided. As opposed to people, for example. Clad in his dragon-hide gloves and an apron of the same material that Snape had let him borrow from the equipment press, Terry poured a vial of bright pink Veela blood into a hissing cauldron of fennel, marrowroot and essence of lionfish.

He wasn’t actually making a potion. His concentration was shattered after his interview with Michael and that state of affairs was not conducive to careful measuring and precise stirring. Sometimes -- more often than was wise, really -- Terry used his time in the classroom to throw whatever came to hand into the cauldron, just to see what happened next.

So far over the course of his additional Potions time, he’d exploded three cauldrons, melted the base of a fourth, created more sticky, sludge-coloured pastes than a grouting manufacturer and, once, produced a dark blue liquid which turned out to be an effective anti-inflammatory throat medication.

Snape had happened to be checking in that day. He had had a throat infection. As could most proficient potion-makers, Snape could distinguish between organic compounds by smell and colour gradation. He conducted a few tests, pronounced Terry’s mixture non-poisonous and drank some. His infection cleared up within eight minutes.

Terry always kept a journal of his trials. It was fortunate for Madame Pomfrey that he did so, because she could mix up her own batches. Terry had only ever told Padma that the school nurse stocked Terry’s cough medicine, but he couldn’t help feeling a glow of pride whenever he visited the hospital wing and saw a shelf of flasks containing blue potion. He even wondered if the colour was due to Terry being a member of Ravenclaw House.

Ever since then, Snape had grown even more lenient of what he’d initially dubbed Terry’s “mucking about”. If Snape walked in now and saw Terry pouring ingredients in a cauldron just to see them bubble, he wouldn’t say a word. Well, not many -- it was Snape, after all -- but they would be innocuous enough.

As the khaki colour of the lionfish bled into the Veela pink, Terry decided it was his lack of a special project that was causing all this pent-up frustration and very peculiar feelings on his part. Ever since second year, he had set himself extra-curricular tasks. He could remember the very first; it had been to research each plant in 1,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi and learn three new facts about it.

By the time he reached fifth year, however, he’d realised he needed outside guidance to function at maximum capacity, which was when he’d enlisted the teachers’ help. And for individuals whose vocation it was to foster a love for and willingness to study, they had all been highly startled to have extra homework assignments demanded of them. Term-long projects had been a matter of scaling upwards; it was just that Professor Lovebright’s refusal to co-operate had thrown a sparkly pink spanner in the works.

Terry supposed he could have gone to another teacher. However, he had an inkling that Defence was going to be a very -- perhaps the most -- important subject in the coming months and years. Lovebright’s suggestion to participate in the DA had merit, of course, but it wasn’t like Harry was the most stringent of taskmasters. And as for her other suggestion --! A girlfriend!

Terry’s knuckles glowed white as his grip on the ladle increased to cracking point. Obviously there were many lessons to be learned from observing the other sex, but Terry had his fill of that with Padma. Sex itself was just another bodily function. Terry was not ignorant of the mechanics of the act, and his own forays into individual manipulation had not been unworthy of repetition. He just didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

Besides, once he’d committed to memory everything he’d seen in the Wizarding Kama Sutra, there didn’t seem to be anything else to learn. Frankly, he was astounded that people could spend hours and hours -- years -- having sex, while at the same time they would give up an Arithmancy equation in frustration after a mere ten minutes.

Perhaps he could approach Hermione about the extra study. Hermione was reasonable, so long as one forgot that she willingly associated with two of the most reckless and foolhardy members of a notoriously reckless and foolhardy House. There must be some investigations Terry could carry out on behalf of the DA. All he needed was a starting point; he could pick up and run with it from there.

Then he could reclaim his brain, distract it from all these images it persisted in throwing up just when he was trying to concentrate. Particularly the memory of Michael either sucking a quill, his eyes unfocused, or Michael with no bloody shirt on.

Terry’s potion was a sickly yellow. Large bubbles were floating to the surface and bursting with loud, unpleasant squelching sounds.

He ducked just in time.


Terry stared at his reflection in the mirror. Disconsolately, he decided that it was going to take industrial-strength shampoo to remove the last traces of yellow slime from his hair. He had quite a stock -- this wasn’t the first time something had exploded on his head -- but he couldn’t both wash his hair and make it to the DA on schedule. Much as Terry abhorred the thought of giving people more reason to look at him, he knew which of the options he had to take.

With a sigh he ducked out of the boys’ toilets and mooched down the corridor towards the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. One of the trolls paused in adjusting his tutu to point and laugh at Terry’s hair.

“Yes, I know,” said Terry in irritation. “It’s not egg, okay?”

“First sign of madness, talking to a tapestry.”

Terry took the opportunity to wince before having to smooth his features into benign indifference and turn to face Anthony. “Actually, I believe that the colloquial phrase is either ‘talking to yourself ’, or ‘looking for hairs on the palms of your hands’,” he countered.

Anthony curled his thick lips. “I can well believe that you’d have those, Terry, my son. It’s not like you haven’t got wrist movements down pat.” He drew out his wand and flicked it in an exaggerated gesture. “Wingardium Leviosa, eh?”

“But of course.” Terry was the epitome of courtesy; no one would ever have guessed that, mentally, Terry was strangling Anthony with his bare hands and rolling him up in a tapestry of ballet-dancing trolls to rot for all eternity.

Padma often said Terry had homicidal urges. She never said he should do anything about them, although Terry had noticed she never passed up an opportunity to buy him a thump-able cushion or a stress-ball as a surprise present.

“I’ve been thinking,” began Anthony.

“About what, pray tell?” inquired Terry.

“You.” Anthony was still waving his wand, flexing his wrist. Judging from the number of Silencing Charms Terry had heard him cast after lights-out, Terry was not the only one who had no concerns over correct wrist movements. “And Padma Patil. See, you’re obviously quite close. Too close, I reckon, for just mates. So either you’re doing the horizontal tango or you’re going for dance lessons, am I right?”

“I’m afraid that you are not.” In his pockets, Terry’s hands were curled into such tight fists that his fingernails were close to coming up through his knuckles. “Moreover, what Padma and I choose to do or not to do is entirely our own business. I have to say that I do not appreciate your heavy-handed attempts at meddling.”

Anthony’s eyes widened as Terry addressed something that could be construed as impolite to him. His face darkened. “There’s no need to be so bloody defensive,” he hissed. “I guess that’s half your problem -- what you need is a good hard shag to shake you out of your prim and bloody proper ways.”

Terry was biting the side of his lip in an effort to keep the wild magic that was crackling at the tips of his fingertips there and not, say, singeing Anthony to carbonated bread product. Terry wasn’t surprised that Anthony dared to make assertions about Terry. Anthony was, after all, the sort of person who assumed that his take on the world was the only one worth taking into consideration -- by himself or by anyone.

It didn’t stop Terry’s surging rage, though. Really and truly, what did it have to do with Anthony whom Terry shagged or did not shag? Did Terry go about suggesting that holding a conversation with Mandy in which Anthony listened to her -- instead of showering her with expensive gifts and ignoring her -- would be very beneficial for their continued relationship? No, he did not.

And of course, as long as he didn’t, Anthony would never realise how out of line he was for doing the same to Terry.

Come on, taunted Anthony. “Say something. Or are you going to bottle it all up? Wank it off tonight when you think we can’t hear you? You’re so bizarre, Boot. All that study you do -- what is it for? Why don’t you get undressed like a normal person? Why don’t you talk?”

With every imprecation he had taken a step closer to a trembling Terry; by the time Anthony reached the end of his litany his hands were on Terry’s shoulders and he was shaking him. “Answer me!” he shouted.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Anthony snatched his hands from Terry’s shoulders as if he had suddenly grown poison sacs. Both he and Terry turned to face the speaker, who was no other than Harry Potter. A Harry Potter with a look of high disapproval on his face, moreover -- which, given his history of physical violence and verbal abuse, was rather hypocritical.

“I asked you a question, Goldstein.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Anthony’s voice was sullen as he jerked his thumb at Terry. “He’s the freak with the problem.”

“Ri--ight, of course. How stupid of me.” Behind his thick, unfashionable glasses, Harry’s eyes were like two shards of broken glass. “Terry, I think Hermione wanted to talk to you. She went to the Room of Requirement early -- should be in there now. I just want to have a word with Anthony, okay?”

“Yes.” Terry had the feeling he was being patronised, which was just as bad, in its way, as Anthony’s bullying. Terry dug his hands deeper into his pockets, doing his best to reduce the amount of space his body was taking up, and slouched into the Room of Requirement.

Many of the DA members were assembled there, seated on the large silk cushions that littered the floor or perched on the table and chatting amongst themselves. Terry had assumed that Harry’s message about Hermione had only been a ruse to get him out of Anthony’s way, so he was surprised to hear his name being called.

“Terry! Over here!”

Taking a deep breath, Terry headed over to the corner of the Room that housed the Foe Glass. For a second, the shadowy figures coalesced into one dark, looming form which turned thoughtful eyes on Terry before disappearing once more into the ether. When Terry blinked and looked closer, there was nothing there but foggy shapes. He decided he must have imagined it.

“Did Harry pass on the message?” asked Hermione, pushing her bushy fringe out of her eyes. Terry nodded.

Hermione put him in mind of a vigorous potion -- always bubbling, always pondering and thinking and considering just under the surface. There was also the very real feeling that if you touched her hair you’d get an electric shock, although that could just have been the static electricity as opposed to anything more arcane.

“He said you wanted to speak to me?” Terry tried to quell the hope that sprung in his breast; if Hermione had a task for him, that would solve his biggest problem to date, but it was a hope in danger of easy dashing. Well, actually, Kevin and Anthony combined were his biggest problem, but it was his own fault if Terry couldn’t stay out of their way.

What people often didn’t understand about self-motivated learning was that even though someone could motivate themselves to study, the motivation itself had to come from somewhere. It was a finite resource. Terry found the best supply came from having people know what he was doing, not so much to encourage him as to expect him to flag in his zeal. There was nothing like proving people wrong to force you to keep writing that extra paragraph, to find that one extra book, to stay awake that four extra hours.

“That’s right.” Hermione nudged Ron, who was standing beside her scanning the room with a restless expression. Ron was never still until he knew where Harry was. “It’s a little project Ron, Harry and I have been cooking up between us recently. I was hoping you could lend us your expertise.”

“Certainly, but in what, exactly?” asked Terry, intrigued.

Hermione opened her mouth to elucidate, but just then Harry entered to start the meeting -- trailing a glowering Anthony. Hermione shoved a book into Terry’s hands, promising to, “Discuss it in a few days.”

Padma left off shaking her head at her more boisterous twin’s antics to move to greet Terry by kissing him on the cheek. Terry didn’t even dare to glance in Anthony’s direction to see his reaction to that.

There were a number of new faces in the crowd, but one old one was notably absent. Zacharias Smith was nowhere to be seen. As Harry stumbled through his welcoming speech, he looked disoriented at the lack of heckling. The older hands were all in agreement with him and the newer members were regarding him with something bordering on sanctimonious awe. What there was a remarkable lack of was certain blonde people wondering if Harry was ever going to stop talking and actually teach them something useful, or demanding to see proof that Harry had the slightest idea what he was blathering on about.

Harry soon finished; his momentum seemed derailed, even without having someone around who’d drop an obstacle on to the tracks as soon as look at him. He paired them up in order to revise the spells they’d learned before. Again, he paused, as if waiting for someone to wonder at the top of their voice why Harry was acting like such a tame old biddy and refusing to introduce new techniques.

Terry and Padma were paired together; further down, Terry spotted a rather sulky-looking Mandy being cajoled by her errant boyfriend into accepting their pairing. Steve and Kevin were together, at the other end of the room from Terry. It couldn’t have been better unless Michael were there with them -- as far away as possible.

Speaking of Michael -- where was he?

Terry had no time to look for him, for Padma had noticed Terry’s hair and emitted a startled yelp. “My God, Terry Boot, I never thought you had ambitions to go blonde!”

“What?” Terry patted his hair and little flakes of drying potions came away with it. “Oh, that. No, a cauldron just exploded on me.”

“What, again?”

“That only makes four altogether, Padma,” said Terry, nettled.

Padma just clucked her tongue. She strode forward, tucking her wand in her baby-blue belt -- “House solidarity, Professor!” she’d claimed when McGonagall pulled her up for it.

Padma began to tug at Terry’s hair, dragging her fingernails along the strands to catch the slivers of congealed potion. Terry submitted to her ministrations, although not without a small sigh. He knew from experience that Padma could be most determined when she settled on doing something, and also that she had a very strong grip.

Harry passed behind them, ostensibly checking for correct enunciation, although the fact that Padma had Terry in what amounted to an arm-lock didn’t appear to catch his attention. Terry thought he heard him mutter to Hermione, “Where the hell is Smith?”

Terry’s hearing wasn’t the greatest, though; for all he knew Harry could have been expressing his extreme delight in the existence of crème puffs. That was, after all, far more likely than Harry displaying concern over Zacharias Smith’s whereabouts. Or, if that was the case, then Harry just wanted to keep track of Zacharias’ movements in order that they should be as far from Harry’s as was humanely possible. Yes, that had to be it.

Terry nodded to himself, remembering too late that Padma’s hands were still pulling at his curls. Several of his hairs parted company with his scalp and he yelped in pain, his eyes creasing shut.

“Jesus, Boot, what’d you bloody do to yourself?”

Padma had never spoken in such a deep baritone in all her life, not even when she’d contracted severe bronchitis in fifth year. Terry, rubbing the sore spot on his head, turned around with great reluctance to face Michael. Padma, shaking her head so that her long hair whipped about, creating its own gale-force breeze, retreated across the room, withdrawing her wand as she did so.

“A potion exploded on my head and Padma was getting it out,” muttered Terry, aiming for brevity.

Michael appeared to think Terry the soul of wit all the same, for he was grinning with mirth. Or at least, Terry assumed it was mirth, although it was hard to tell. The two people Terry knew who smiled a lot -- Anthony and Kevin -- rarely did so out of pure unadulterated joy, and certainly not when it could be pure unadulterated malevolence instead.

“Terry, why aren’t you practising Stunning Charms?” demanded Harry all of a sudden. “Pair up with Michael and let’s see you at it.”

Oh no, thought Terry miserably, here It comes. His blush had a life-force, hobbies and a pet cat called Tibbles all of its own. The Blush visited Terry unannounced and ever unwanted, never failing to guess the times when it would be most debilitating for Terry to be showing such a weakness. If it had been a spell, it would have been the tip-top Unforgivable.

Michael was looking at him wearing a patient expression. “Well?” he said.

“What?” To say that Terry was ruffled would be like calling a tsunami "rather choppy waves".

“I said, I’m ready when you are,” said Michael. He jerked his head so that his hair slithered off to one side, although it was unhappy with this change of address and was soon creeping down over his forehead once more. He must have washed it, because the last time Terry had seen Michael his hair had been greasy and plastered to his head, not all shiny like it appeared now.

“Great,” said Terry, trying not to let his voice reveal that it was the polar opposite for him.

Harry was watching them, tapping his foot in impatience. His arms were folded, his eyes narrowed. Terry didn’t find Harry all that intimidating, but his complete concentration on Terry alone was unnerving. At least he wasn’t Hermione, who would be sure to correct Terry before he’d even done anything, or Ron, who had the span of patience of an incontinent three-year-old, or -- worst of all -- Anthony. Having Harry instead was cold comfort, all the same. Freezing, in fact. Sub-zero.

Terry raised his wand, aiming for the spot between Michael’s eyebrows. Not an actual pimple -- his forehead was clear of zits, unlike the line of his jaw -- just the centre of his forehead. Terry hoped Harry didn’t notice how the wand-tip wavered as Terry fought not to let his hand shake. Michael was sending him what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, which in real circumstances would have been as probable as a paper guillotine and which was only irritating Terry now.

Harry breathed in through his nose and started rubbing the sleeve of his robes with the heel of his other hand. The noises he created were indistinct and, surrounded as they were by the hubbub, should have been inaudible. They weren’t.

Terry focused his mind as Harry had recommended they do and marshalled all his magical strength.

Stupefy!” he shouted, feeling embarrassed for doing so, even though he was speaking no louder than anyone else in the room. A bolt of red light shot out from the end of his wand, hitting Michael just below his left eye -- at the last minute Terry’s hand had spasmed.

Michael stumbled for a moment, then dropped like a stone.

“Excellent.” Harry’s voice was brisk and unsurprised. “Now revive him and practice all the jinxes you know on each other. I’m sure you know loads.”

He strode off down the room, waving Padma over to Seamus as he went and dragging Dean -- Seamus’ original partner -- over to Neville. Terry watched Harry go for a second, marvelling at his own success. True, Michael hadn’t even been trying to defend himself and Terry’s aim was disastrous. Nevertheless, it was a great improvement on all those times Terry had lost the ability to speak at the crucial moment, instead mouthing useless syllables that bore all the relation to magic spells as did an electronics manual.

He squatted awkwardly at Michael’s side, pausing to drag Michael’s wand arm out of his way and retrieving Michael’s wand from where it had fallen just beside his head. He’d managed to land plum on a cushion, which was typical of the way Michael went through life -- always managing to skirt the fallout by the merest and most unplanned of shortcuts.

Michael looked as if he were asleep. His head had rolled so that he was lying on his cheek and his hair had been shaken all over his face. The curve of his jaw and the shadowed slope it beneath were his most visible features.

His heart dancing the jitterbug, Terry reached out and gripped Michael’s chin for a moment -- just long enough to turn his face up. Terry could feel light stubble under his fingers; it scratched against his skin as he whipped his hand away. Trying to make his voice strong and clear even though he felt as breathless as someone who’d just done a Roger Bannister around the Great Lake, Terry said “Ennervate!”

Michael’s eyes jerked open and for a split second he looked disoriented, the lines of his face taut. On spotting Terry, who was scrambling upright and away, he visibly relaxed. “Good one, Terry,” he congratulated, rising to his feet by dint of grabbing a nearby bookshelf and hauling.

“Thanks.” Terry cleared his throat, wondering if there were any yellow patches still in his hair and fervently hoping there weren’t. “Harry said we were to practise jinxes.”

“Oh, great,” groaned Michael. Terry blinked in hurt surprise. He hadn’t realised his company was that repugnant.

“You know more jinxes than everyone in our class put together,” complained Michael, scraping his hair away from his face. “How on earth am I supposed to compete?”

Terry looked down at the hand that was gripping his wand, wondering why he was smiling so much.


Chapter Three: Jagged Roads

Current Mood: confusedconfused
Current Music: "Jerk It Out", the Caesars -- just that good
not your typical annihilatrix: Snape (this big)furiosity on June 7th, 2005 01:54 pm (UTC)
k, I haven't read (yet) but um.. did you want a skyehawke account so you don't have to go through the three-LJ-entry contortion? :P
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 7th, 2005 02:26 pm (UTC)
Eh, don't feel obligated to, please. And I have one -- it just doesn't do my ego much good to see the hits, dear. :)
(no subject) - furiosity on June 7th, 2005 02:38 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:51 pm (UTC) (Expand)
kabeyk on June 7th, 2005 03:40 pm (UTC)
Heh, you enabled comments! Sadly I will have to wait for morning (and sobriety) before I read this, but woo! Something good to read while I breakfast.

kabeyk on June 8th, 2005 04:20 am (UTC)
Right, review. See, I had to open a new browser window so I could copy and paste all the good bits as I find them; look at the trouble I'm going to!

He still followed a rugby training schedule that would have put the Hitler Youth to shame.

Ahh, political incorrectness! The Hitler Youth are just so comical. Really.

And Terry's curls; oh, I love men with curly hair.

He quickly averted his gaze to the mould along the cornicing, because Michael’s bare back, with its hollowed shoulders, had obscured his vision and there was a dip at the base of his spine --

Oh yes...

So far over the course of his additional Potions time, he’d exploded three cauldrons, melted the base of a fourth, created more sticky, sludge-coloured pastes than a grouting manufacturer and, once, produced a dark blue liquid which turned out to be an effective anti-inflammatory throat medication.

I just love Terry's awkwardness and the tension and his homicidal urges and Michael with his shirt off. Ahh. Oh god, and the end had me squeeing like a fangirl.

His blush had a life-force, hobbies and a pet cat called Tibbles all of its own.

Terry could feel light stubble under his fingers; it scratched against his skin as he whipped his hand away.


(no subject) - scoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:53 pm (UTC) (Expand)
...: OMG LIEK WTF?!?!111chowburger on June 7th, 2005 05:40 pm (UTC)
Firstly, your icon is sex.

Secondly, I can't help but picture Terry as looking like Seth Cohen Adam Brody. And I love the way he talks. If I knew a guy like that I would molest be in love with him.

Thirdly, I would totally go through this and take all the bits that made me laugh out loud and quote them and tell you how much I love them, but that would take hours upon hours to do. Rest assured that there were many of them!

Fourthly, I can't wait for more!
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:55 pm (UTC)
8D I don't know where spectacular finds all these pictures.

I was wondering who the hell I was channelling for that! Except Terry isn't, well, good looking. Or is not supposed to be. Except for his eyeslashes, which I couldn't help. :) Michael, of course, is a young David Cassidy.

I'm so pleased you liked it. <333
(no subject) - scoradh on June 11th, 2005 03:55 pm (UTC) (Expand)
gabbysun on June 7th, 2005 08:19 pm (UTC)

And to think I haven't even read it yet. ;D This is just to assure you that I am alive and will read this a-sap!, just as soon as I can get reliable internet access again. I've missed everyone. ;__;
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:57 pm (UTC)
*chuckles* Your faith is so ... good, or something. Sadness on the internets failure; can there be a worse thing? I mean, other than famine ... or death ... okay, never mind!
mary margrave: squee!danibennett on June 7th, 2005 09:40 pm (UTC)
God, I love this story.

Terry is so deliciously neurotic.
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:58 pm (UTC)
Thank you!

Homicidal, too. I don't know where that came from.

Honest, I don't.

Minnowminnow_53 on June 8th, 2005 02:44 am (UTC)
Sorry to be doing this too! I'm only just this far down my f-list: didn't know you'd posted this, but I have to go out soon. So I wanted to let you know that now I'm aware of it, I shall be reading and reviewing as soon as I get a chance.

every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:59 pm (UTC)
You don't have to tell me this, dear heart. I assume that no one is going to read it anyway, so any review is a suprise. :)
Minnowminnow_53 on June 8th, 2005 05:33 am (UTC)
Okay, a live cat in the box from me at last! Better than a dead fish... :D

I really enjoyed that: the plot's deepening satisfactorily, and I like the way it's paced so that each development seems logical and appropriate. And you're building up good UST. Yay! I LOVE UST, almost as much as RST!

But I feel a bit sad for poor Terry sublimating his urges with all that extra work... Still, it's all part of the entertainment, so I'm not complaining.

Hope we won't have to wait too long for the next instalment! Please can you drop a line on Yahoo or on an old fic on my journal to let me know when you're posting more? Because I nearly missed this on the endless f-list!

every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 02:02 pm (UTC)
I 'ate fish! Have you seen that Muddles ad? I keep calling the cereal 'Muggles'. Hehe.

I'm crap at RST, that's why we get industrial portions of UST. :)

Are you sure? I mean, I don't mind if you can't review ... I'm basically incapable of pimping myself, even to say I've a new chapter up. *makes pleading eyes* Um...
(no subject) - minnow_53 on June 12th, 2005 01:10 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 12th, 2005 04:53 am (UTC) (Expand)
Lord Marmaduke Newbrycatsmeat on June 8th, 2005 10:40 am (UTC)
You just stole an hour and a half of my life, you cur!

Why not use a new rating scheme. Use lj tags! Like catsmeat for all that porn that you apparently don't write. Or scoradh for ravenclaw fluff?
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 02:04 pm (UTC)
Ooh, I feel so guilty. You can't steal what's given, eejit.

What's apparently? Link me to MY PORN. OMG.

That would make sense, really, considering I seem to be the only one wimpy enough to write it. *eyeroll* Because there is no porn. NO PORN.
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 11th, 2005 04:43 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 12th, 2005 04:55 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 12th, 2005 06:51 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 13th, 2005 02:38 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 14th, 2005 06:21 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 17th, 2005 02:41 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 17th, 2005 04:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 18th, 2005 02:31 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 19th, 2005 05:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 19th, 2005 09:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - catsmeat on June 19th, 2005 03:39 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Insufferable, man.cynicalpirate on June 8th, 2005 11:29 am (UTC)
Update this soon, you ho.

I take back what I said in my other comment. You have enabled comments after all. You are wonderful.

I would C+P, really I would, but there would be too much. So I'm just going to tell you and cry at my inadequacy later.

I love what you've done with Terry. I think you said once that all fanfiction was original fiction, because - well, I don't remember the reason. But I love how Terry's yours. He's so unbelievably endearing and fascinating and complex. I love his backstory, I love his parents -Charlotte Boot!- and I love his relationship with Padma; it's adorable. I love his thoughts and how neurotic he is and I love his reasoning, and he's like my Holden Caulfield of the fandom already I love him so much. He's just wonderfully unique and flawed and perfect.

Again, I love how you've put so much of you into this. (Or at least what I presume to be you.) Which is not to say that it's self-insertion - far from it, but it's so wonderful and recognisable. You are Terry Pratchett's lovechild, you know. You were a mpreg baby between him and Sirius Black, and let that be the end of it. I mean, half the things I would have C+P'd (awkward verb if I ever saw one) would have been because of your metaphors and analogies and similies and tautologies and wow. Your style is amazing.

I like how you incorporate the canon characters that usually take center stage, but don't let them steal the show. I like your characterization of Harry. Note - I don't say that I like Harry, cause I don't. But I love your characterization of him, because it's so - imho - accurate. The whole him-patronising-Terry thing made me want to gouge his eyes out, but, y'know, I look for that in a fic. I also loved the potion-Hermione thing. Lovely. Not been seeing much of Ron - not that I'm complaining. I'm not not complaining. Merely making an observation. *hides*

The Ravenclaw boys are... adjectives fail me. Exquisite.

Random - At first I thought this was going to be Terry/Zacharias, actually. Sorry. But look! I didn't call him Zach again, because I love you. Don't I get points for that?

MICHAEL. Oh Jesus. Can he stop being all teasing and just jump Terry already? *gushes*

I am descending into fangirl, because one 'SQUEE' says a thousand words, doesn't it? But yeah. I really, really like this fic. And I'm glad you turned on comments, so I could tell you so.

You'll make me too starstruck to talk to you if you carry on this way. Please do. Carry on this way.
gabbysun on June 9th, 2005 08:43 am (UTC)
Re: Update this soon, you ho.
Re: Update this soon, you ho. - scoradh on June 11th, 2005 02:11 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Update this soon, you ho. - scoradh on June 11th, 2005 02:10 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Rose: Big eyesfourth_rose on June 8th, 2005 01:12 pm (UTC)
I just read the whole story in one go, and now I'm totally unable to come up with an intelligent review on account of being speechless. Seriously.

*bows before your brilliance*
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:49 pm (UTC)
No bowing from anyone, least of all the owner of such an amazingly bugeyed cat. *cuddles. you too*
moocowmisconstrue on June 8th, 2005 03:20 pm (UTC)
oh!!! I have nothing long and fuzzy to write although I am absolutely loving how the romance is shaping up, which is to say THANK YOU FOR NOT MOVING TOO FAST AND THROWING THEM TOGETHER NAKED ALREADY BECAUSE YOU KNOW, YOU'VE WRITTEN A GOOD MORE THAN 100 WORDS SO OBVIOUSLY SOME HARDCORE SEX IS IN ORDER. Both Terry and my caps lock are grateful, I think. Um, the potions room and falling asleep in bed scenes were favorites of mine and I like this perspective on the Trio. Very nice!
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:48 pm (UTC)
You know all this UST is just a sad, blatant cover for my incapability to write hot steamy boysex.

I have vair, vair odd views on sex and how it fits into relationships, so yes. This is what resulted! I'm chuffed that you liked it, although generally the bits I myself like are the ones I end up having to scrap. :) Story of life.
(no subject) - misconstrue on June 11th, 2005 06:34 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 12th, 2005 04:52 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - misconstrue on June 12th, 2005 06:00 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 13th, 2005 02:25 pm (UTC) (Expand)
now and forever a bench.: penguinscome_on_live on June 8th, 2005 05:12 pm (UTC)
Oh wow. hownovel pointed me here, and this is WONDERFUL! i love your portrayal of terry... so nerdy and inept... :)
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:45 pm (UTC)
Thank you. In fact, Terry rather reminds me of that penguin who keeps falling over in your icon ... the mean one could be Anthony ... *is entranced*
cutecoati: Camel (coronation mantle)cutecoati on June 9th, 2005 02:05 pm (UTC)

You know, I never dreamed of reading a pairing like this, let alone adoring it... hmmm... must be the way you write it, I guess ;-))

*adores and totally fangirls you*
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:42 pm (UTC)
Um, um... thank you!! You're lovely. :)
aestheticmatter on June 9th, 2005 03:39 pm (UTC)
I absolutely loved this! It is so precious, and so real, and so poignant. You can't help but adore both Terry and Michael, and don't get me started on Anthony.
As a Harry/Zach lover, I love the little back-story thingy going on with them.
In fact, I enjoy this so much I might translate it into portuguese in the future, if you wouldn't mind, of course.

You made me laugh, you made me squeal (nekkid michael), you have such a nice style.
And you reminded me, once again, of why H/D sucks and rare pairings rock with the might of a volcano:P
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on June 11th, 2005 01:41 pm (UTC)
Hello! Gosh, I hope it isn't too late to reply. O.O

I'm surprised glad you liked this story, and if you wish to translate it, go ahead! I'm afraid all the Portugese I know is from Orson Scott Card's books, but I'm still highly flattered. :)

I'm only a convert, I'm afraid; initially I wrote H/D, and back in the dawn of time when dinosaurs were only a twinkle in the Maker's eye, I wrote Hermione/Draco. I know, het! *recoils in horror*

(no subject) - aestheticmatter on June 12th, 2005 07:34 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 12th, 2005 11:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - aestheticmatter on June 12th, 2005 02:51 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 13th, 2005 02:37 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - aestheticmatter on June 13th, 2005 06:51 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - scoradh on June 17th, 2005 02:36 pm (UTC) (Expand)