Dissolutionaria, 4/5
Mar. 21st, 2006 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foudebassanWarnings: silliness, not beta'ed, bad language.
Rating: PG-13
Part one, The Secret Gathering, is here
Part two, The Great Bargain, is here
Part three, Wherein Male Characters Make An Appearance, is here
Part 4 – The Phoenix’s Song
This chapter is dedicated to all those who ever visited the eponymous website, and more generally to all Harry/Ginny shippers. It is also dedicated to those of you who may, or may not, live in Phoenix, Arizona. The author is happy to milk a chapter title for all it’s worth, after all.
This chapter could have been about what went on right after the last part – how the other men reacted to their partner’s absence, how the women got accommodated inside Hogwarts, and so on, and so forth. But, you know, beloved reader, I might abuse you quite often, but I don’t underestimate your intelligence (much). I take it for granted that you are able to imagine how Order witches took possession of the castle, how they held a huge welcome feast and practised their vibrating charms; how the Death Eater wives swore the oath as well and partly joined the Order forces, partly swept out in the countryside, seeking welcome hideouts away from their husbands’ watchful eyes and lust. But a majority of all witches remained in their homes, enticing and arousing their pained husbands, making sure that nothing else than the game of love ever came to their minds – and, of course, refused to give them what they were all made to yearn for.
The first effects of the new policy were already tangible in the wizarding world. War dawdled; fewer and fewer Obliviates were needed to clean all green strikes from the memory of passer-by Muggles. And more and more Weasley Whizz-bang were lighted, as children escaped their mothers’ surveillance due to their increasing activities, and to their fathers’ increasing level of distraction, and thus were able to have fun with explosives that were usually kept away from them.
Or maybe lack of activity would be more proper a term to describe what all the British witches were doing. Wearing skimpy nightgowns all day is a full-time occupation, but not a very fulfilling one. More witches were tempted to stray – and more witches therefore joined the safe Hogwarts to remove themselves from the reaches of temptation. And thus the crowd within the castle grew and grew. Dormitories were full to almost to the brim.
Yet all witches were not content with this fate.
Some of them regretted their partners, despite the well used and much-refined vibrating spells everyone now mastered to the perfection. Hermione had even spotted Daphne Greengrass and Cho Chang trying to cross the imposing front gates under the guise of advanced pregnancy, for the former, and mid-wifing services for the latter; needless to say, the former Slytherin was not pregnant at all, and had merely hidden a large helmet from one of the Hogwarts suits of armour under her voluminous robes to masquerade as a mother-to-be. Hermione, who also recalled a rather slim Daphne entering Hogwarts only a few days ago, therefore had an easy time putting an end to their comedy, and sending both offenders back to their dormitories like unruly first-years.
Wand still in hand, Hermione then decided to tour to ramparts, which is very convenient for the narrator, as I do not feel like a shift in point of views at this point of the story and nonetheless foresee that there is something to you might wish to read about on the opposite side of the castle.
This is the point where a long description of the castle, the ramparts, and how Hermione walked on the ramparts to reach the other side of the castle, would be called for, in order to distract you for all the time necessary to reach the place I wish to pursue the narration in. This would however be somewhat tedious, and, after some deep thought, I am not quite sure Hogwarts has ramparts anyway, which does tend to make their description somewhat arduous. The kind reader will therefore be nice and carry on directly to the next scene. If the kind reader insists, I could of course be persuaded to insert a chapter break here, but it would be your loss more than mine, I assure you.
While we are conducting this fascinating architectural argument (do magical castles invented by JK Rowling in the second half of the twentieth century have ramparts, or not? Do Snape’s dungeons have torture implements designed to discipline unruly students, or not? Does Dumbledore wear Y-fronts at night, or not? Does he prefer another sock, or not? Is the author trespassing the bounds of decency and good taste, or not? Was this last question purely rhetorical, or not? And this one? How many questions may be asked within one single paragraph? Is there even a limit? When do readers get tired of it all? Does it matter whether readers get tired of it? All right, yes, it does.)
As I was saying while we are conducting this fascinating architecturo-interrogational argument, Hermione had reached the scene I was telling you about just a moment ago, you really should be paying more attention, you know.
Ginevra Weasley was perched on the ramparts and shouting to someone standing on the ground below. Upon closer inspection, the someone happened to be two people, Harry Potter and his and Ginevra’s son, young James, who should be 2 years old in the spring if I’m not mixing his birthday up with somebody else’s.
“What are you saying?” she yelled. “I can’t hear you!”
The wind carried fragments of the answer.
“Can’t live without you… Baby needs you… Can’t sleep at night when you’re not there… Need you more than life itself…”
“He can’t go to sleep without a shag and can’t stand reading “Hamster Huey” to James more than three times in a row” Ginevra swiftly translated. “I understand your point of view, dear, but I swore an oath! I won’t come back until the war has ended! Well, that, and a short break from the Gooey Tablooie isn’t unwelcome,” she added under her breath. “If I had known the author intended to turn James into a duplicate of Calvin Petterson, I would never have had a child!”
“Can’t… hear… you…” was the response from down below. Harry was looking dishevelled, and a tell-tale bulge in a place unfit to be mentioned in polite society caused some giggling among the witches massed on the ramparts to listen to the entire conversation.
Unfortunately for him, Ginny had noticed it as well, as it never failed to have an appreciable effect on her as well. Truth be told, as long as you don’t repeat it, it was this very fact that led to the existence of young James about two years and nine months ago (unless of course I am mixing this up with another important event. My timelines always end up being very confusing – I do it on purpose, it makes me sound like JKR).
Ginevra was, and still is, a very sensible witch. She knew from experience what staring at her husband’s crotch entailed, and she knew it never was even remotely connected with abstinence. You do not need to be wilde to realise that nothing is harder to resist than temptation; tame Ginny therefore chose the only prudent route and left the ramparts altogether to make sure she would not give in. Harry called for her, but soon realised that she would not come back, especially as the other witches also left their places on the ramparts in order to rejoin the Great Hall in time for supper. Young James began to cry, and Harry hovered on the brink of the blackest despair. Given a straight choice between reading Hamster Huey aloud for the sixth thousand, three hundred and eighty-first time and submitting to Crucio, he would doubtless have chosen the latter – when you are twisting on the ground in agony, at least you don’t have to worry about being a bad parent.
“Dad-dy!”
His offspring was looking up at him with the big, bright eyes of a child that hasn’t had quite enough Gooey Tablooie yet.
Harry did the only thing that could be done in those circumstances: he threw his wand away and himself on his knees, lifted his arms up skywards, and implored Heaven, or the Olympus, to send a nice little Crucio, or strike of lightning, or even a good diversion shower, his way.
Heaven is a crowded place, and God has quite enough work to manage as it is without bothering with the not-dead-yet. The Olympus is more considerate, and Zeus even consented to send a lone grey cloud above Hogwarts.
But a tall, dark, hooded figure that had previously remained hidden behind a tree walked out of the shadows, picked up Harry’s discarded wand, and slowly pointed his own towards the panic-stricken wizard at his feet.
“Are you going to read Hamster Huey?” James asked.
Never underestimate Potter stubbornness.
*
* *
In the meanwhile, within the castle walls, most of the witches had reached the Great Hall and were currently eaten heartily while commenting on Harry Potter’s male attributes. Only two lone witches lingered in the corridors, talking, and stopped in a very conveniently placed alcove for us to listen to them without any passer-bys disturbing their conversation.
“You must be proud of yourself, Hermione” declared Lavender. “After all, you are the source of all this activity and citizen-like behaviour.”
The author regrets that she has not introduced Lavender earlier in this story. It is of course no fault of hers, as she supposed that you are all acquainted with the brown-haired witch already. If you are not, do visit the HP lexicon; I haven’t, but apparently it is full of such useful information. You might even buy the books, you know, those parallelepiped-like volumes covered in a paper jackets? They do contain masses of background information that comes in handy to understand all the fanfic, see. All right, in the meantime I’ll give you a short description. Lavender is brown-headed, empty-headed, and generally carries a bimbo atmosphere all around in most of the fandom.
“If the war does end, I shall indeed.” replied Hermione, who was very conveniently placed near to Lavender and thus in a position to reply. “But in the meanwhile…”
“Do you mean you miss that greasy-haired bastard you live with?”
“Come on… you’re above calling him that. That’s the biggest fandom cliché that has ever gone around, I had though you would know better!”
“Sorry…”
“And yes, I do miss him. And his wand. Well, him, really. This might be why I feel so…”
“Unsatisfied?”
“Frustrated would more resemble it. I had always thought myself clever, you know, I never had problems mastering a spell before, but I cannot be getting the whole range of possibilities contained in that vibrating spell. It is not… well, not like it should be, if you see what I mean.”
“Yes, I do indeed…” Lavender whispered in her ear. Lavender had come closer to Hermione, see, and was thus able to whisper directly in her ear. “A wand can never replace another being…”
“Aren’t you invading my personal space right here?” Hermione asked, purely rhetorically of course, as she knew fully well that Lavender was indeed invading her personal space. But asking a question gave her time to analyse the fact that the invasion was not entirely unwelcome.
“Do not think of this in terms of conflict… This is lust! You should very well know this, as you are the one who wanted to substitute love to hatred, in this plan of yours…”
Lavender’s voice had become dangerously seductive.
“Is this what I think it is?”
Hermione’s voice had become attractively enamoured.
“It is!”
The author’s dialogues had become frighteningly boring.
She therefore decided to move on to a dialogue-less narrative, but was counter-attacked by Hermione, who, as you well know, is difficult to shut up, even in the more… delicate situations.
“Wait a moment! This is not supposed to be a femslash fic! Weren’t you planning to post this on Ashwinder? Don’t you know fangirls will cut you in little pieces if you pair me up with anyone else than Severus?”
Alas for Hermione, or happily for her – nothing is more frustrating than being denied sex after some teasing, after all -, the author is convinced that any lone fangirl should have fled this fic by now, because of the obscure pedantic references, lack of h0wt sexx0rs and unwelcome interruptions of the narrator in an already indigestible story. The courageous veteran readers that have reached this stage of the narration are either extremely cultivated, intelligent people, who know that behind every porn scene and obscene word, there hides a subtle allusion to some literary masterpiece, or very enduring people who merely decided to finish this because they had already begun to read it. The author would just like to state that the latter stand at some advantage here: due to a sudden, surprising lack of inspiration, there shall not be any subtle allusions to literary masterpieces in the following bit of porn. Not that this should discourage you from looking for some, mind you – you might find some yet!
So, in other words, the author shall do as she pleases. Not that it is a great change from the usual, mind you.
Hermione was thus discouraged from objecting to the author, and went back to more pleasing occupations. It was not a bit too soon in her opinion – remaining in a cramped position for so long, neck twisted to allow easier access to her ear, was not very comfortable. So: Lavender was brushing her lips against her ear (Hermione’s, not her own. Even contortionists have their limits), and sliding her hand under the blouse of her former prefect’s, and their breaths quickened, and…
Oh, sorry, I did say femslash was all right, even for a fic I shall attempt to post on Ashwinder, but I totally forgot that the rating of this fic did not allow for anything too explicit. Oops.
Well, let us cast a veil of discretion on the two girls’ activities, and go take a shower while waiting for the next chapter. Which shall alas be devoid of hot sexxors, but then no story is perfect.
If it is any consolation to you, the author is no lesbian, and the femslash sex you have just been spared would have been wholly unrealistic, un-arousing, and somewhat tense.
Part Five, the ending, is available here.
Rating: PG-13
Part one, The Secret Gathering, is here
Part two, The Great Bargain, is here
Part three, Wherein Male Characters Make An Appearance, is here
This chapter is dedicated to all those who ever visited the eponymous website, and more generally to all Harry/Ginny shippers. It is also dedicated to those of you who may, or may not, live in Phoenix, Arizona. The author is happy to milk a chapter title for all it’s worth, after all.
This chapter could have been about what went on right after the last part – how the other men reacted to their partner’s absence, how the women got accommodated inside Hogwarts, and so on, and so forth. But, you know, beloved reader, I might abuse you quite often, but I don’t underestimate your intelligence (much). I take it for granted that you are able to imagine how Order witches took possession of the castle, how they held a huge welcome feast and practised their vibrating charms; how the Death Eater wives swore the oath as well and partly joined the Order forces, partly swept out in the countryside, seeking welcome hideouts away from their husbands’ watchful eyes and lust. But a majority of all witches remained in their homes, enticing and arousing their pained husbands, making sure that nothing else than the game of love ever came to their minds – and, of course, refused to give them what they were all made to yearn for.
The first effects of the new policy were already tangible in the wizarding world. War dawdled; fewer and fewer Obliviates were needed to clean all green strikes from the memory of passer-by Muggles. And more and more Weasley Whizz-bang were lighted, as children escaped their mothers’ surveillance due to their increasing activities, and to their fathers’ increasing level of distraction, and thus were able to have fun with explosives that were usually kept away from them.
Or maybe lack of activity would be more proper a term to describe what all the British witches were doing. Wearing skimpy nightgowns all day is a full-time occupation, but not a very fulfilling one. More witches were tempted to stray – and more witches therefore joined the safe Hogwarts to remove themselves from the reaches of temptation. And thus the crowd within the castle grew and grew. Dormitories were full to almost to the brim.
Yet all witches were not content with this fate.
Some of them regretted their partners, despite the well used and much-refined vibrating spells everyone now mastered to the perfection. Hermione had even spotted Daphne Greengrass and Cho Chang trying to cross the imposing front gates under the guise of advanced pregnancy, for the former, and mid-wifing services for the latter; needless to say, the former Slytherin was not pregnant at all, and had merely hidden a large helmet from one of the Hogwarts suits of armour under her voluminous robes to masquerade as a mother-to-be. Hermione, who also recalled a rather slim Daphne entering Hogwarts only a few days ago, therefore had an easy time putting an end to their comedy, and sending both offenders back to their dormitories like unruly first-years.
Wand still in hand, Hermione then decided to tour to ramparts, which is very convenient for the narrator, as I do not feel like a shift in point of views at this point of the story and nonetheless foresee that there is something to you might wish to read about on the opposite side of the castle.
This is the point where a long description of the castle, the ramparts, and how Hermione walked on the ramparts to reach the other side of the castle, would be called for, in order to distract you for all the time necessary to reach the place I wish to pursue the narration in. This would however be somewhat tedious, and, after some deep thought, I am not quite sure Hogwarts has ramparts anyway, which does tend to make their description somewhat arduous. The kind reader will therefore be nice and carry on directly to the next scene. If the kind reader insists, I could of course be persuaded to insert a chapter break here, but it would be your loss more than mine, I assure you.
While we are conducting this fascinating architectural argument (do magical castles invented by JK Rowling in the second half of the twentieth century have ramparts, or not? Do Snape’s dungeons have torture implements designed to discipline unruly students, or not? Does Dumbledore wear Y-fronts at night, or not? Does he prefer another sock, or not? Is the author trespassing the bounds of decency and good taste, or not? Was this last question purely rhetorical, or not? And this one? How many questions may be asked within one single paragraph? Is there even a limit? When do readers get tired of it all? Does it matter whether readers get tired of it? All right, yes, it does.)
As I was saying while we are conducting this fascinating architecturo-interrogational argument, Hermione had reached the scene I was telling you about just a moment ago, you really should be paying more attention, you know.
Ginevra Weasley was perched on the ramparts and shouting to someone standing on the ground below. Upon closer inspection, the someone happened to be two people, Harry Potter and his and Ginevra’s son, young James, who should be 2 years old in the spring if I’m not mixing his birthday up with somebody else’s.
“What are you saying?” she yelled. “I can’t hear you!”
The wind carried fragments of the answer.
“Can’t live without you… Baby needs you… Can’t sleep at night when you’re not there… Need you more than life itself…”
“He can’t go to sleep without a shag and can’t stand reading “Hamster Huey” to James more than three times in a row” Ginevra swiftly translated. “I understand your point of view, dear, but I swore an oath! I won’t come back until the war has ended! Well, that, and a short break from the Gooey Tablooie isn’t unwelcome,” she added under her breath. “If I had known the author intended to turn James into a duplicate of Calvin Petterson, I would never have had a child!”
“Can’t… hear… you…” was the response from down below. Harry was looking dishevelled, and a tell-tale bulge in a place unfit to be mentioned in polite society caused some giggling among the witches massed on the ramparts to listen to the entire conversation.
Unfortunately for him, Ginny had noticed it as well, as it never failed to have an appreciable effect on her as well. Truth be told, as long as you don’t repeat it, it was this very fact that led to the existence of young James about two years and nine months ago (unless of course I am mixing this up with another important event. My timelines always end up being very confusing – I do it on purpose, it makes me sound like JKR).
Ginevra was, and still is, a very sensible witch. She knew from experience what staring at her husband’s crotch entailed, and she knew it never was even remotely connected with abstinence. You do not need to be wilde to realise that nothing is harder to resist than temptation; tame Ginny therefore chose the only prudent route and left the ramparts altogether to make sure she would not give in. Harry called for her, but soon realised that she would not come back, especially as the other witches also left their places on the ramparts in order to rejoin the Great Hall in time for supper. Young James began to cry, and Harry hovered on the brink of the blackest despair. Given a straight choice between reading Hamster Huey aloud for the sixth thousand, three hundred and eighty-first time and submitting to Crucio, he would doubtless have chosen the latter – when you are twisting on the ground in agony, at least you don’t have to worry about being a bad parent.
“Dad-dy!”
His offspring was looking up at him with the big, bright eyes of a child that hasn’t had quite enough Gooey Tablooie yet.
Harry did the only thing that could be done in those circumstances: he threw his wand away and himself on his knees, lifted his arms up skywards, and implored Heaven, or the Olympus, to send a nice little Crucio, or strike of lightning, or even a good diversion shower, his way.
Heaven is a crowded place, and God has quite enough work to manage as it is without bothering with the not-dead-yet. The Olympus is more considerate, and Zeus even consented to send a lone grey cloud above Hogwarts.
But a tall, dark, hooded figure that had previously remained hidden behind a tree walked out of the shadows, picked up Harry’s discarded wand, and slowly pointed his own towards the panic-stricken wizard at his feet.
“Are you going to read Hamster Huey?” James asked.
Never underestimate Potter stubbornness.
* *
In the meanwhile, within the castle walls, most of the witches had reached the Great Hall and were currently eaten heartily while commenting on Harry Potter’s male attributes. Only two lone witches lingered in the corridors, talking, and stopped in a very conveniently placed alcove for us to listen to them without any passer-bys disturbing their conversation.
“You must be proud of yourself, Hermione” declared Lavender. “After all, you are the source of all this activity and citizen-like behaviour.”
The author regrets that she has not introduced Lavender earlier in this story. It is of course no fault of hers, as she supposed that you are all acquainted with the brown-haired witch already. If you are not, do visit the HP lexicon; I haven’t, but apparently it is full of such useful information. You might even buy the books, you know, those parallelepiped-like volumes covered in a paper jackets? They do contain masses of background information that comes in handy to understand all the fanfic, see. All right, in the meantime I’ll give you a short description. Lavender is brown-headed, empty-headed, and generally carries a bimbo atmosphere all around in most of the fandom.
“If the war does end, I shall indeed.” replied Hermione, who was very conveniently placed near to Lavender and thus in a position to reply. “But in the meanwhile…”
“Do you mean you miss that greasy-haired bastard you live with?”
“Come on… you’re above calling him that. That’s the biggest fandom cliché that has ever gone around, I had though you would know better!”
“Sorry…”
“And yes, I do miss him. And his wand. Well, him, really. This might be why I feel so…”
“Unsatisfied?”
“Frustrated would more resemble it. I had always thought myself clever, you know, I never had problems mastering a spell before, but I cannot be getting the whole range of possibilities contained in that vibrating spell. It is not… well, not like it should be, if you see what I mean.”
“Yes, I do indeed…” Lavender whispered in her ear. Lavender had come closer to Hermione, see, and was thus able to whisper directly in her ear. “A wand can never replace another being…”
“Aren’t you invading my personal space right here?” Hermione asked, purely rhetorically of course, as she knew fully well that Lavender was indeed invading her personal space. But asking a question gave her time to analyse the fact that the invasion was not entirely unwelcome.
“Do not think of this in terms of conflict… This is lust! You should very well know this, as you are the one who wanted to substitute love to hatred, in this plan of yours…”
Lavender’s voice had become dangerously seductive.
“Is this what I think it is?”
Hermione’s voice had become attractively enamoured.
“It is!”
The author’s dialogues had become frighteningly boring.
She therefore decided to move on to a dialogue-less narrative, but was counter-attacked by Hermione, who, as you well know, is difficult to shut up, even in the more… delicate situations.
“Wait a moment! This is not supposed to be a femslash fic! Weren’t you planning to post this on Ashwinder? Don’t you know fangirls will cut you in little pieces if you pair me up with anyone else than Severus?”
Alas for Hermione, or happily for her – nothing is more frustrating than being denied sex after some teasing, after all -, the author is convinced that any lone fangirl should have fled this fic by now, because of the obscure pedantic references, lack of h0wt sexx0rs and unwelcome interruptions of the narrator in an already indigestible story. The courageous veteran readers that have reached this stage of the narration are either extremely cultivated, intelligent people, who know that behind every porn scene and obscene word, there hides a subtle allusion to some literary masterpiece, or very enduring people who merely decided to finish this because they had already begun to read it. The author would just like to state that the latter stand at some advantage here: due to a sudden, surprising lack of inspiration, there shall not be any subtle allusions to literary masterpieces in the following bit of porn. Not that this should discourage you from looking for some, mind you – you might find some yet!
So, in other words, the author shall do as she pleases. Not that it is a great change from the usual, mind you.
Hermione was thus discouraged from objecting to the author, and went back to more pleasing occupations. It was not a bit too soon in her opinion – remaining in a cramped position for so long, neck twisted to allow easier access to her ear, was not very comfortable. So: Lavender was brushing her lips against her ear (Hermione’s, not her own. Even contortionists have their limits), and sliding her hand under the blouse of her former prefect’s, and their breaths quickened, and…
Oh, sorry, I did say femslash was all right, even for a fic I shall attempt to post on Ashwinder, but I totally forgot that the rating of this fic did not allow for anything too explicit. Oops.
Well, let us cast a veil of discretion on the two girls’ activities, and go take a shower while waiting for the next chapter. Which shall alas be devoid of hot sexxors, but then no story is perfect.
If it is any consolation to you, the author is no lesbian, and the femslash sex you have just been spared would have been wholly unrealistic, un-arousing, and somewhat tense.
Part Five, the ending, is available here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 11:53 am (UTC)Nice to see some femslash getting a look in.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 06:25 pm (UTC)You might even buy the books... they do contain masses of background information that comes in handy to understand all the fanfic
Really? Maybe I should head for the bookstore instead for the shower, then?
LOL. That was brilliant!
Can't wait to read the rest.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-22 03:33 pm (UTC)