Ooh! Brit-picking! Terribly useful, thank you! I have such a hard time separating what's really British and what's all faux-British and where I'm crossing the lines and where I'm not going far enough and all those things.

Hmm. Damn, on the logistical issue. You're very much right there. I'll give some thought on how to change it so that it works. I'm not sure if I want them getting in bed together yet - maybe it's just me, but I read that kind of thing as pretty false. How often would schoolchildren, even girls, be willing to do that? I might try it anyway, just to see if I can get it plausible. We'll see.

Do Prefects have their own dorms? Or is that ever mentioned one way or another? Could I make it so? That could explain away the only-our-year problem. Hmm. I guess the best way to test that would be to see if Harry and Ron still lived in the same room in OOtP. I'm leaning towards yes they did, killing that plan. Hmm. Maybe Ginny traded with a seventh-year who wanted to get away for some reason. Lavender and Parvati had a falling-out over Seamus, maybe, and are trying to avoid each other's company.

t /shameless thinking aloud

How often would schoolchildren, even girls, be willing to do that?

Well, they're not children, for one thing - but for another, the bed is the main bit of furniture in one's bedroom. When you've got friends in your room, you generally DO sit on the bed, don't you? Talking, or whatever. And if you've got a four poster bed with curtains, it's like its own little world, its own little mini-bedroom of private space in a dormitory. So for me it isn't overtly an erotic space, even though it's got an erotic charge. Um.

'course, I could be on crack.

Well, they're not children, for one thing.

(shrug) I guess that depends on your definition. They're still very young and inexperienced, and pretty durned immature. I consider myself to still be pretty much a child in a lot of ways, and I'm five years older than Ginny in this story. It's not an insult, I swear, but they're definitely still adolescents at least.

Anyway, I did get something that actually works, I think. As long as the vulnerability is played up, Ginny asking Hermione to sleep with her doesn't seem too wrong. It may need more buildup to work - I might have to add more to the scene, or throw in a small scene in the middle maybe. I'll have to think about it. If you want to see the changes I've made, they're up in the same place ( [link] ) with all the Brit-crit changes and the rewritten third section. No new material, yet.

Thanks again for reading!

I had to fix a canon issue, so I did, but then I had too much exposition. So I had to show some of it, as we all know that showing is better than telling. So I had to write a new scene, but that made a later scene make less sense. So I had to modify THAT scene, extensively, in order to make everything work.

This writing thing is complicated.

Anyway, I think it works. I still haven't added anything to the central storyline, really, but there is a whole lot of new stuff in there for such a small story. It's about 1600 words, now, and I hope I can get somebody out there to read it and comment (I know Fay is all busy now that the weekend is ending/over.)

Still Harry Potter, still Hermione/Ginny from Hermione POV, still rated PG or so. I intend for it to be what I call a hopeless-romantic-piece, meaning Curtains Close on a Kiss (God knows) so it probably won't ever get any more explicit than the sweetness and light level it's at now.

[link]

ETA: I hope nobody tried to read it before this edit (3:10 Pacific) as I only just actually changed the link to the right thing. Oops.

This week's Open on Sunday challenge is transportation.

Shmoop warning.

When I Was On Horseback

She sang, and the wind sang with her, lifting her hair off her neck, warming her, cooling her. Beneath her, the big gelding felt her ease up on the reins, and jumped from canter to thundering gallop, his lethal hooves sending up dark clumps of the loamy Devon soil.

When she returned, Giles saw the horse was sweating. He said nothing, but Willow caught his look.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll rub him down. He's such an amazing way to get from point A to point B."

"Willow, is there something wrong?"

"Yes." Her voice fractured. "Tara would have loved this."

t loves the schmoop

t sniffles. Or would if weren't still giggling from silly movie.

Awww. Tara WOULD have loved that.

Maybe I'll join Open on Sunday.

It's a good community for drabbles. But it demands 100 words exactly.

I kind of like that demand, actually. Been thoroughly enjoying hp100.

Excellent disciplinary tool, that demand - I find it hones things, and not only in writing fic, but also in fiction.

Another transportation drabble.

Because It's There

One hand over the the other. No pitons, no ropes.

The monastery is halfway up Lhotse's north face. He's left the building quickly, neither knowing nor caring whether the Buddhist monks were puzzled. He suspects not - they're very wise.

Limned in ice crystals far below, the Khumbu Icefall is a cathedral of frozen trilithons. He stands shivering, halfway between Tibet and eternity. The ragged unmistakeable summit of Everest, fabulous against the evening sky, is suddenly obscured by blowing cloud.

Then the moon breaks the surface, gibbous, golden, and full.

And suddenly, Oz is travelling on four legs, not two.