Fic: Something Borrowed, Something Blue

[therealsnape]

This week kellychambliss posted her delightful story Five Creatures That Luna Believes In That Hermione Doesn't

It’s a wonderful essay on Magical Creatures and Their Effects on People, as well as a great characterisation of perceptive Luna and surprising Vincent. It also offers some Hogwarts students’ ideas on what Hooch gets up to in her spare time, and there’s a McGonagall/Vectra to die for.

In short, hop over and read it.

And when you’ve done that, you’ll agree with me that the only point of concrit one might offer is that we are tantalized by the following bit:

Or at least, Luna assumed it was a verret. She couldn't quite see it, but she thought she caught a whiff of its tell-tale sweet scent, the one that worked as a vapourous form of Veritaserum, but that affected behaviour instead of words. It caused people to act on their deepest desires, which was why Luna felt that it was a good thing verrets were so rare. Often it was better to keep one's deepest desires private. Her father had once told her an interesting tale about the time a verret sat under the chair of Ron Weasley's Auntie Muriel. . .

And then Kelly doesn’t give us the tale. Instead, we get a teenage snogfest. Here's my version of what happened:



July 5th, 1997

The parchment scroll was at least twenty inches long. Fourteen of which were needless repetitions and exclamation marks.

And many a girl wouldn’t do that, you know! But Fleur never hesitated, not once! It was as if Bill’s scars simply didn’t exist! “I’m pretty enough for both of us, I should think.” That’s all she said. Well, pretty is as pretty does, I always say, and I couldn’t wish for a better daughter-in-law!
And that, dear Muriel, is why I would really love it if you could lend us that tiara for the wedding. It would mean so much to Fleur and Bill! And to Arthur and me, of course! To all of us, really!!! I know that the tiara is so very special for you, holds such memories … I wouldn’t bother you, normally, but now, with Bill’s accident and everything … It really would mean so much to him! And to Fleur. I’m sure you’ll love her, once you meet!
We’ll confirm the date as soon as we can! It all depends a bit on Bill’s recovery. And again, best wishes on your birthday! I’m sorry about missing it, but with one thing and another, I’m late as usual. I’ll do better next year, I promise!!!
We look forward to hearing all your news!
Love,
Molly

Muriel Prewett grinned wryly as she rolled the parchment. Late as usual. The perfect description for a mother of seven. And on that income, too. Hapless Molly. She wouldn’t have bothered to remember her birthday at all, not Molly, had it not been for that tiara … Muriel wasn’t quite sure about lending it.

It wasn’t the memories, of course. Trust Molly to get all maudlin and sentimental. And to get it utterly wrong. Memories had nothing to do with it. She just felt that it should be kept for a true marriage of love. On the other hand, that Fleur sounded all right, for a foreigner. And if she had managed to get past Molly’s ‘no-one is good enough for my darling son’ attitude, she must be quite something. Part Veela, eh? She should look well enough, then. Better than Muriel would have looked herself, had she worn it … Muriel’s thoughts flew back to the day she decided she would not.

August, 1949

Diagon Alley baked in the sun. It was a glorious summer, the kind where one could plan a picnic two weeks in advance and be sure of the weather. The Grindelwald-days were gone for long enough to get some sort of normality back. And remembered well enough to be truly grateful for small pleasures.

Such as sitting in the sun in front of Nicholas Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, eating banoffee ice cream. Smiling at the completely over the top display of blue balloons, each and every one of them sporting the picture of a bald, wrinkly, screaming baby. Nicholas’s son, born the evening before, who, according to his father, was the bonniest lad ever, with dark brown eyes just like his father; who had the makings of a fine Keeper, just like his father; who was bound to get into Hufflepuff, just like his father; who would set the wizarding world afire - – quite unlike his father, Muriel thought -– and who would,in time, take over the ice cream parlor. What was his name again? Sylvan? Something nature-like … Florean, that was it.

She watched a small, flaxen-haired boy tuck into his second chocolate sundae. Amazing really. Take the size of the child. Calculate the possible size of the stomach. No more than half a pint, surely. Now calculate the volume of two sundaes. Either Nicholas added a shrinking potion that reacted on gastric fluids to his ice cream (and she wouldn’t put it past him), or the content and elasticity of a small boy’s tummy were one of Nature’s unsolved mysteries.

“Like it, Xeno?” she heard Nicholas ask. Funny name, that, Xeno.

Not that she should be thinking of boys’ stomachs or names. What she should be thinking of, what every normal girl in her position would be thinking of, was that life-changing event: The Proposal. That she had accepted. Showed she was as interested in boys as any girl, now, didn’t it? Well, perhaps not quite as interested – obsessed, really – as some of her classmates, but surely that had been excessive? She was a perfectly normal girl, thrilled to get married. And to marry, against all expectations, the Deb’s Delight, Frederick Crouch. A very good-looking young man with a decent fortune, already noted as a talented healer.

Everyone thought he would pop the question to Dorothea Figg. Dorothea herself thought so, although she had been too prudent to say it. But all that talk about a woman being a true helpmeet for her husband, supporting him in whatever he wanted to do, be that the start of a clinic in the North, even … Well, it was pretty clear that she expected to be Mrs. Frederick Crouch before long. And it was most gratifying that she wouldn’t. Dorothea Figg had always irritated Muriel. In fact, she made her flesh creep.

But scoring one over Dorothea should not be the reason she was so very, very happy today. And she was. Really, she was. Getting married was wonderful. In a minute or so, she would do a tour of the Alley, do some window-shopping. For furniture. And linen. And things. Things for when she and Frederick would set up house together. That would be lovely. It would. But right now it was quite pleasant to sit in the sun and enjoy the last of her ice cream. And watch the comings and goings. Not that there were many, on this hot day. Just one witch coming out of Madam Malkin’s. Average height, proud carriage, dark hair. Who could it be?

Who was she fooling? Muriel would recognize her always , anywhere. Augusta Longbottom. Augusta Johnson, before her marriage. A very grown up sixth year when Muriel came to Hogwarts. Head Prefect the year after, “but only because Dippet wants you to lead the Gryffindor team,” Augusta had told Minerva McGonagall. “Don’t be absurd, you’re a much better Head Prefect than I would be. My temper does get the better of me, and Dippet knows it,” Minerva had laughed. And Muriel had listened and had suffered agonies of jealousy. Such a schoolgirl’s crush she’d had on Augusta. Gazed at her whenever she could, she had, and written Augusta’s name in her diary, with garlands of flowers. And on one embarrassing occasion in the margin of her Transfiguration parchment. Thank heavens Dumbledore had returned it without comment. Hadn’t even noticed it, perhaps. Then again, it was Dumbledore, so he probably had. Had just been very tactful about it.

It hadn’t stopped her from being … no, not in love, infatuated with Augusta. A crush. It happens to every girl. It doesn’t mean a thing. And she had been jealous of Minerva for being Augusta’s best friend. Funny, how the memory of such a childish, long-past emotion could still make her feel all fluttery. No need to show that, though. Just act normally.

“Hello, Augusta,” she cried cheerfully.
“Good heavens, if that isn’t young Muriel. How are you, these days?”
Well, they had been in the same house. And Augusta, as Head Prefect, probably knew most students by name. There was no need to feel so absurdly gratified at being remembered.

“Fine, just fine,” she answered. “And you? Working for the Ministry, I guess? Before your marriage, I mean? You did fight in …” She realized that she was babbling. Stop it, you fool, she thought, have a decent conversation for once, will you?
“Time for a chat?” she added, pointing towards the empty chair at her table. Rather to her surprise, Augusta accepted. She carefully settled the elegant Madam Malkin bag against the table and leaned back, turning her face to the sun, half-closing her eyes. She stretched and wiggled her feet in a way that made Muriel notice both the elegance and the discomfort of Augusta’s shoes. Staring at the little straps that emphasized Augusta’s slender ankles, she suddenly had a very clear image of lingeringly undoing them, taking of the shoes, massaging those well-shaped feet.
“Lovely,” Augusta sighed. Muriel looked up sharply. No, however powerful that image was, she hadn’t done anything … crazy. Augusta simply meant the sunlight.
“Reminds me of Montpellier. I did go to France, yes. Dumbledore recruited me … us. Landed me an Auror-traineeship afterwards. “
Us, Muriel thought, with a pang of the old jealousy. Minerva and Augusta, of course.
“And Minerva?” she asked. “Did Dumbledore find her a job, too?”
See? She was simply catching up with an old school friend that she had admired once, asking after mutual acquaintances. Everything absolutely hunky-dory.
“He did,” said Augusta bitterly. Bitterly?
“He suggested she did a degree in Transfiguration. Promised her a place at Hogwarts, once she’d finished her studies. May not be for a while, though. Min is nothing if not thorough.”
“Did Dumbledore offer her a teaching job? Well, I must say, I’m not really surprised. Minerva was brilliant in Transfiguration.”
“Yes,” said Augusta.
“Is it true that she wants to become an Animagus? I heard a rumor …”
“Yes,” said Augusta.
“I really think it would suit Minerva very well,” Muriel smiled. “When I think of her, it is somehow always against a Hogwarts background. I simply cannot picture Minerva in a small flat, or a cottage, doing homey things after work, saying ‘wash or dry?’ to someone… “
Not even the curt ‘yes’, this time. Muriel looked up, surprised, slightly worried. She noticed Augusta’s hands first, clenched around the chair, white-knuckled. Then she saw the look in her eyes. Oh, Merlin, she thought. You could. You did. You pictured just that, you and Min, sharing a flat, doing the Auror training together. The cottage for later, perhaps, when the two of you could afford the mortgage. Being together, doing homey things. You wanted all of that. As much as I want it, but not with Fred, with you.
That last thought ran through her like a knife, unexpected, painful, revealing. Cutting straight to the core. I do want that, she realized. Do now. Did then. I do want that.

She had been right to feel jealous of Minerva, all those years ago. It had been more than friendship. Now she just felt angry with her. You fool, you idiot, throwing away the pearl beyond price. And for what? For an endless stream of spotty adolescents. For being a schoolmarm. She saw Augusta stare at her wedding ring, then cover her right hand with the left.

I must give her time to get a grasp on herself, Muriel thought, and me too. “I’ll have a refill. You too?” she asked. Augusta looked at her, unseeing. Then she nodded. “Right, two ice creams coming along.” How falsely cheerful that sounded. She went into the parlor.

“Two banoffee splits,” she ordered. Nicholas took the ice scoop and two glasses. The flaxen-haired boy – Xeno – looked longingly at them. Then he gazed through the open door. Suddenly, he sat upright.
“Did you see that, Miss? A verret. In Diagon Alley. That’s really, really special, Miss. They’re so rare!” He beamed at her, all gappy charm and boyish enthusiasm. Must have bought those sundaes with the Tooth Fairy’s offerings, Muriel thought. But ‘verrets’? She smiled at him, uncertain of what to say.
“Of course, a verret,” Nicholas said. “Young Xeno here is awfully good at spotting rare beasties. Very knowledgeable about them, too. Not called Xenophilius for nothing, eh, lad? Well, being an only child, he has time to study them.” He winked at her. She understood; a lonely boy who made up imaginary friends.
“That’s great, Xeno,” she said.
“You don’t believe me. Nor does Nicholas.” The boy didn’t seem bothered. “Adults never believe me.” The statement was so matter-of-fact that Muriel was at a loss for words.

By then, Nicholas had finished the ice creams. Muriel took them out. She was glad to see that Augusta looked more like her old self. As she sat down, she thought she saw something move under the table – Augusta’s bag, sagging a bit, she thought, but she didn’t bother to check.

“And you, what are you up to?” Augusta enquired.
Eager to lead the conversation away from Minerva, Muriel answered “I’m … thinking of getting married. It isn’t official yet. In a few days …”
“Congratulations. Who’s the lucky fellow?” Augusta asked.
“Frederick Crouch.”
“Frederick? But I thought … sorry. Tactless of me.” Augusta looked contrite.
“No, never mind. Everyone thought, well, thinks really, that he and Dorothea…”
“If you ask me, he is well out of that. Dorothea was unbearably smug as a schoolgirl, and she hasn’t improved with age.”
Muriel grinned. Snarky as ever, Augusta was. And spot on.
“I thought,” Augusta continued, “that she wanted to look after that younger sister of hers. A squib, they say. And Miss Goody Two Shoes wanted to surround her with sisterly love. From what I heard, that sister is praying to every Deity in existence to have the love transferred to a husband. I wondered what Frederick saw in her.”
Muriel laughed. “Oh, Augusta, you haven’t changed a bit! But Frederick told me he feels very responsible for his younger brother, Barty. Such an age gap between them, twelve years. Fred wants to be a role model for Barty. Perhaps that created a bond, of sorts?” And it was noble of Frederick, Muriel thought. Worthy. No need to feel irritated.

And no need at all to look at Augusta’s lips, to watch her lick the caramel sauce off, to want to... Stop it. Looks can’t make your body throb. Certainly not there. Concentrate on your ice. Eat it. Smell it. Deliciously caramelly. Much sweeter than usual. Think rational thoughts on that little mystery. Caused, probably, by an unusual ingredient. Nicholas was in a blissful haze over his first-born; his offerings might easily auto-ignite or self-implode. The latter was the solution to the Stomach Mystery, perhaps? And the smell really was rather lovely. She delicately sniffed again.

Suddenly, Muriel felt a passionate, overwhelmingly urgent need to kiss Augusta. How stupid, she thought. How ridiculous, how completely unthinkable. It wasn’t until she felt Augusta respond that she realized she actually ... really ... had ... And then she thought of nothing but lips and tongues and hands. And an all-pervading feeling of coming home.

July 5th, 1997
That had been the moment she decided that she wouldn’t wear that tiara on her wedding day. Because there would be no wedding day. Even before an embarrassed Augusta had muttered something about a mistake, about her being married and Muriel being engaged, she had known that she wouldn’t marry Fred.

She had told Augusta that it didn’t matter. That she shouldn’t feel awkward, a moment of mutual madness. Least said, soonest mended sort of thing.
Augusta had taken a few deep breaths. At each one, Muriel had expected her to say something, but she hadn’t. She had briefly, tenderly, caressed Muriel’s cheek.
She’s going to tell me that it won’t happen, that it never was me, never will be either, Muriel thought. And this time, I will get over that. At some point in the future I might even meet someone else. Someone - some woman - to share my life with, in whatever way we decide. But not Fred.
She smiled at Augusta, surprised by the clarity, the absoluteness of that insight. Unsure of what to say. I want to say thank you, she thought. Thank you for showing me, thank you for making me understand. Can I?

Before she’d made up her mind, Augusta had spoken. “Don’t make my mistake,” she’d said, stumbling over the words in her hurry to get them out. “Don’t do it. I married him because ... because Min wanted Hogwarts. And I couldn’t deal with that. With a holiday relationship. I wanted more. I got so much less. Don’t do it.” For a moment, she had gripped Muriel’s shoulder. Then she had walked away, quickly, without looking back.

Muriel had looked around, to check whether anyone had seen them. That wouldn’t do for Augusta, it wouldn’t do at all. Only Xeno could’ve noticed something, she realized. She had walked over to him, but his wide-eyed look told her enough. Still dreaming about his ferret. She had offered him another sundae which, miraculously, he accepted. Boys’ stomachs.
Had she smelled the ‘verret’, he’d asked her. Such a sweet smell, he claimed. A ferret that smells good? To please him, she had said she’d noticed a smell that was unusually sweet. For an ice cream, she thought.

Fred had married Dorothea after all. He had sent Muriel a wedding invitation, out of spite. She had accepted, out of relief. She had met Dorothea’s sister, more radiantly happy at the exchange of vows and the impending move up North than the bride herself. A friendship had sprung up, that had grown and grown over the months.

Muriel put the parchment in her desk. She would answer it tomorrow. It was too late now, almost four o’clock. She wanted to be there at four exactly; it was bad enough to Apparate inside someone’s house. The least she could do was to be punctual. “Let me use the tunnel, as before,” she’d pleaded. “It served us well for fifteen years. Just because there were Dementors once… It isn’t as if I’m the Chosen One, for Merlin’s sake!” But, “you’re my Chosen One,” Arabella had said. And her smile had lit up the room. So Muriel Apparated inside her house now. At four o’clock exactly. Almost every day.

Comments

[tetleythesecond]

Ooooh, thank you, thank you, thank you for this beautiful afternoon distraction! As always, it was exquisite pleasure. Great dialogue, both internal and external, and I love the voice you give to Muriel, especially when she tries to talk herself into wanting the marriage (“And she was. Really, she was. Getting married was wonderful. In a minute or so, she would do a tour of the Alley, do some window-shopping. For furniture. And linen. And things…“), and when she remembers her jealousy of Minerva.

I had a tear in my eye when it suddenly dawned on Muriel that it hadn’t been unjustified, and I heaved a big doggie sigh at the lovely end. Loved little Xeno and your careful observation regarding the stomach capacitiy of little boys. Of course, you also capture Molly with your usual precision. /g/

And now I want ankle straps and banoffee ice cream. No matter the -15 degrees outside.

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for the lovely, detailed review! I rather grew to like Xeno, too. And Molly is just such fun!
But Muriel ... well, I simply had to give her story a happy ending. Couldn't just leave her with a third banoffee for extremely cold comfort.
Talking of which, I'm off for some very hot, chestnut-flavoured tea (Paris, last autumn. Really, Mariage Freres ought to be forbidden - or at least, they shouldn't be allowed to invent new flavours).
But it's an enormous compliment that you can contemplate icecream with these temperatures (-10C here, feels like -20).

Thanks again for the wonderful review.

[tetleythesecond]

Ha! I wasn't just contemplating ice cream; I was contemplating ice cream in pumps (me, not the ice-cream.) Sadly, all the parlours in the wider area are closed.

And I really have to go to Paris again one of these days. Sadly, it's so far away from my tiny village in Western Siberia.

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

I was contemplating ice cream in pumps It's a thought. If one combines two fetishes ... and Kelly had that prompt of 'magic sex games gone wrong', that she based on poor Willa's bandaged wand-arm and the bondage-with-motley-ties ... the possibilities are endless.

All right, I'll get my mind out of the gutter. Of course you meant 'eating an ice cream while wearing pumps'. An enticing enough image as it is.

my tiny village in Western Siberia. Have I told you recently how much I adore your comments?

[tetleythesecond]

the possibilities are endless.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. You know, I only have about a dozen books to be sighted by my side, a handout to prepare, a suitcase to pack, documents for a meeting to read and a GEN!prompt chock-full of inspiration to contemplate. All I need is the thought of endless possibilities involving ice-cream, footwear, Wilhelmina and motley-coloured ribbons.

Muriel boven...

[pale-moonlite.livejournal.com]

I love how you bring these minor characters to life and show the other side of canon. (And your Molly is always a delight. *g*) I love Muriel and her train of thought. I'm glad she 'smelled the verret' eventually. It's good to know that she found Arabella in the end. (And what an awesome pairing is this?)

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you liked the pairing - it is a rare one. It's just what I saw happening, when I started thinking about Kelly's prompt. And I wanted Muriel to have a happy ending!

[minervas-eule.livejournal.com]

Fantastic! At first I started to read it very slowly, because I was delighted by every exclamation mark *LOL* and the beauty of the description of the summer 1949 (those sentences are marvelous!), but by and by I started to rush through the story to see how the relationships would develop. And how many characters you would have included in this fic in the end *gg*: wonderful!

One little mistake: I think it should read "But scoring one over Dorothea..." instead of "Muriel"

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

Thanks for reviewing; I'm glad you liked it. I had a great prompt to work with, of course.

I think it should read "But scoring one over Dorothea..." instead of "Muriel You're absolutely right. Thank you so much for pointing it out! I've fixed it straight away.

[kellychambliss.livejournal.com]

I have absolutely no business reading fanfic in the middle of the day, especially when I have an "assessment" meeting with the dean and the Languages Dept. chair in 30 minutes and haven't yet reviewed the assessment report.

But this isn't just any fanfic -- it's one of my favorite kinds: canon-compliant, with beautifully-realized minor characters, totally believable backstory, peopled with my favorites (the older women of HP), and full of the spot-on, telling details that give a story such fine texture. Things like the birth of Florean, the presence of the Crouches and Figgs, the delightful Xeno, the so-satisfying twist of an ending, and of course, such a strong Muriel that this is now my canon view of her.

I love what you've done with the verret, and I'm thrilled with the personal touches -- the shoes and the flesh-creeping Dorothea and the ice cream. And of course, Minerva and all the just-right touches of angst. I'm so pleased that something in my story inspired this lovely piece. Thank you!!

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

especially when I have an "assessment" meeting Hope the meeting went well, without too much ChAn or Anyone!PWP.

And thank you for all your lovely compliments - but it was such a great prompt to work with!

the birth of Florean That was an absolute necessity. After all, no-one (except Xenophilius and Luna) is supposed to know about this. So I'd emptied out Diagon Alley by creating a perfectly fine summer - but that would leave our genial host of the ice cream parlor in a position where he would have nothing else to do but look at his customers. So it was a bit of an 'a kingdom for a distraction' thing. Florean just popped up (or out). And it gave me a chance to practice descriptions, too, always my weak spot.

Well, enough of the 'making of', thanks again for your review!
(Both exclamation marks were carefully considered. It's always such a pleasure to get your comments.)

[the-winterwitch.livejournal.com]

After having read Kelly's Luna-fic yesterday, I absolutely had to follow with this one, and I'm absolutely delighted. It's perfect as a spinn-off of Kelly's story (the verret! :o) ), and it's just wonderfully beautiful in itself. I love the way you put the minor characters and parents of known characters into it, and particularly the way how you make the women characters come to live and love. And all the details and conversation... *happy sigh*

(Since our main tea dealer closed down, I've been looking for a source of decent tea - really decent tea. My Beta brought me some Mariage Frères from Berlin as a gift at her last visit, but I discovered just now that they finally have mail order. Now darling dearest and me are brooding over the catalogue for our first Care packet... )

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

Thank you for your lovely review. I'm glad it did justice to Kelly's fine description of that verret. And I've always had a thing about Florean Fortescue (or rather, I have a thing about really good ice cream) so I was glad to celebrate his birth.

My Beta brought me some Mariage Frères from Berlin Would that be someone I know? One of my flisties recently discovered the joys of the Mariage shop in Berlin ...
Have fun with it, it's really marvelous tea.

[the-winterwitch.livejournal.com]

(I really nead a cup-of-tea icon *fetches camera* )

I know Mariage Frères since my time in Paris and did bring some tea back with every (rare enough) visit since. Have you ever been to their tea rooms in the Marais? They serve Scones there with Gelée du Thé made from Earl Grey and Lapsang Souchong *drools*

They're having a Galeries Lafayette in Berlin, where there is also a Mariage shop. My Beta is TheVirginian, over here known as theriak, bus as far as I know she isn't around in the English speaking fandom nor much active on LJ. She writes "only" in German, Snape-centric, and has created the most wonderful OFC.

I have some kind of plotbunny with Mariage hopping around in my head. In one of my many still-unwritten-but-plotted-in-my-head stories, Snape lives indeed in Paris and finally ends up working at Mariage as a tea tester or blender or something, making good use of his admiring sense of smell.

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

I love their tearooms! I buy Mariages tea whenever I go there (Eros and l'Opera being my favourite ones.
And I'd love to read that Snape-centred fic. I can see him doing just that!

No, the LJ friend I was referring to is someone else, Tetleythesecond. I'll check out the Virginian stories - I can read German, only much less easy than English. Thanks for the rec.

[the-winterwitch.livejournal.com]

As I do know tetley relatively well, I didn't think you meant her ;o).
During my time in Paris, there were only the main Mariage Shop in the Marais and another one somewhere rive-gauche (St.Germain-des-Prés? ). Since then, one even exists besides the house where I lived as a demi-pair. The Mariage Opéra, is this the one at Place Madeleine?

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

No, l'Opéra is one of their teas. Great stuff, a delicately scented green one.
I know the shop in the Marais, and in the 6th (side street of the rue de Buci, fairly close to the Boul' Mich end). And I've seen one rue St Honoré, at the top of the street, in the 8th.

[the-winterwitch.livejournal.com]

No, l'Opéra is one of their teas.
Oops ;o)

The shop I meant is 17 Place de la Madeleine, and I've been living at 19 for two years. I only had a chambre de bonne, but it was rather cool to have the Madeleine always before the nursery's rooms.
For my finances it was certainly better that the shop didn't exist there at the times *g*.

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

For my finances it was certainly better that the shop didn't exist there at the times I can see that. What with Fauchon, Hédiard, Mme de Sévigné and the Maison des Truffes, it's bad enough as it is. Very posh address, though! I'm seriously impressed.

[cranky--crocus.livejournal.com]

In high school, I used to read some fics out loud, just for practice, just because. I haven't done it in a while.

I was sitting here prepared to read this fic. For some reason, I started reading it out loud. I read the whole thing out loud. It made me love it even more!

This fic is so very fantastic. I love how you stuck Xeno in, as well; I can only imagine some magical equation correlating with his stomach. I love your characterisation of Muriel and the moments after the kiss.

I think many of us have lived through those moments - the 'this situation won't work, but this life, it's the only thing that will.'

Amazing fic, dear! Fantastic!

[therealsnape.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for your lovely comments! It's always such a pleasure to get a review on a fic that was posted some time ago - an unexpected gift.
I'm glad you liked dear old Muriel so much. In literature I've a fondness for crabby old ladies, and whenever I can, I include them in fics.
Heaven knows what I'll grow into, once I really need those reading specs.

[cranky--crocus.livejournal.com]

Well, whatever you grow into, I'm sure I'll grow into the same, given my similar fondness for crabby old ladies!