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hackthis_archiveIt has been said that if you catch me at the right time, on the right day, you can persuade me to all new heights of insanity. This is not true. Unless you sit next to me during a gig and keep whispering 'OMG, dude, look Gryffindors playing instruments! Look, Harry on guitar and Neville on Keyboards! A Gryffindor band! Where's the Slytherin band?'
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kattiya I hate you with the all-consuming passion of a thousand Crucios. I am not writing scar-fic. Dedicated to oxoniensis because she's having a stressful day, I present a little thing that, around my way, we call CRACK FIC!
Harry Potter
Tonight, I'm a Rock and Roll Star
FYI: There is a very very tiny HBP spoiler here
"I'm not going on. I've changed my mind."
Draco Malfoy flicked his impossibly blonde fringe out of his face and fixed his manager with a haughty look. His entirely too small tee shirt rode up as he flung himself on the over-stuffed sofa that, in Severus' opinion, looked like an Oxfam reject.
Severus couldn't even begin to imagine the sort of germs that such a piece of furniture might contain. He hoped that they might swarm Draco's brain and addle him into a more tolerable mood.
Blaise Zabini looked up from the music magazine in his lap and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he snapped in the manner of long-suffering.
Severus just glared at his bass player. Zabini knew nothing about long suffering.
Managing a rock band -– that was long suffering.
Draco produced a pack of Silk Cut from somewhere on his person and placed a cigarette between his lips. "I've decided that I'm going to do something much more useful with my life," he announced, not actually bothering to light the cigarette.
"You mean sterlisation?" Theodore quipped from the corner where he was sprawled out in a brokendown chair. The Slytherins' lead guitarist had transfigured the plush Wembley arrangement into something he felt was more "rock and roll".
Severus would never understand the need of the band to make everything appear "authentic". If their playing wasn't authentic -- which it wasn't -- the trappings certainly shouldn't have mattered, but apparently they did.
"There will be no more crawling on stage and causing stampedes in the audiences," Severus said pointedly. "The Dark –- Mr Riddle feels that that sort of PR isn't in the band's best interests."
That was the entirety of his response to Draco's ultimatum. They went through this before every gig, and frankly, Severus was fucking sick of it. If Draco hadn't been one of the biggest rock stars in all of the United Kingdom –- well, in all of the Western Hemisphere -- he would've Avada Kedavra'd him without thought, but there was the matter of that stupid Unbreakable Vow that he'd made with the record company.
He'd vowed that he wouldn't kill Draco himself, nor let any of the other band members do the same.
It was a decision that repeatedly came back to kick Severus in the backside.
"You will go out there and sing for those infernal shrieking harpies who buy your albums, or I will call the record label and have you strung up by your gonads."
"I'm not afraid of the label." Draco took the cigarette from between his lips and tucked it behind his ear.
"Right, because no one lives in fear of Sir Thomas Riddle," Nott snarked. "Pull the other one, Malfoy, it's got bells on it."
"You'll have bells on it, if you don't pack it in," Draco shot back.
"Who's got bells on them then?" Gregory Goyle, the drummer, looked up from the crafts table, an entire Galaxy bar wedged in his mouth.
Goyle spent the majority of his time in a marijuana-induced stupor and tended to be ignored by most of the band -– and most of the fans. He had a rather cultish set of groupies, however, who were incredibly devoted to him and provided him with a fresh supply of weed in every city.
"Shut up, Goyle." Draco was all derision as he shifted on the sofa, splaying his legs provocatively, and grabbing for the bottle of Firewhiskey that he'd wedged between the cushions. "I'm serious, Severus, I'm tired of going out and performing for these thankless Muggles. I don't see why we can't just Imperio the lot of them."
"Because your inconsiderable skills couldn't Imperio a Muggle cat," Theodore retorted.
"They're more than enough to Imperio your scrawny arse," Draco replied.
"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, The Dark Lord feels that this insipid noise you play -– and I use the word 'play' loosely -– is able to reach a wider range of victims, err, listeners. Did you pay no attention in the marketing meeting last week?"
"That's what we have you for," Draco said brightly.
Severus scowled.
"Did you know that 'Muggle' is actually the term that was used in the 1920s and 30s to refer to marijuana?" Goyle said randomly. "Louis Armstrong even wrote a song about it."
The entire room fell silent.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Blaise said derisively, flinging his copy of NME at Goyle's head. "I don’t know where you dream up this insipid nonsense."
"Goyle is correct," Severus said slowly, pausing afterwards to contemplate the horror of what he'd just said. "Armstrong was an American wizard."
"There's no such thing," Draco said disdainfully. "Everyone knows the Colonies are all inbred. The idea alone is -–"
"The idea that you don’t think American wizards exist says it all." Blaise retorted. "Much like you."
"Are you still vexed over that business this morning?" Draco knocked back a large quantity of firewhiskey, and Severus felt his stomach turn in revolt. The unending drama between his bassist and his lead singer was giving him an ulcer. "I told you that boy didn't mean anything, I don't know how he found his way into my hotel room."
"I don't care who sucks your cock." Blaise made a dismissive motion with his hand. "I care when it makes us late for radio appearances."
Nott snickered, and Severus cast him a warning look. The last thing he needed was Draco in a strop because he felt Zabini wasn't jealous.
"He was quite good, you know," Draco said slyly. "He had this mouth on him that wouldn't quit."
"Much like your mouth," Zabini retorted.
"Touche!" said Nott.
"Yes, you're all quite amusing, but -–"
Severus was cut off by a commotion across the room. There was a loud rapping at the door, followed by what sounded like a scuffle and the door flew open, banging against the wall behind it. Vincent Crabbe's mammoth figure filled most of the entryway, but the shrill, shrieking voice knew no boundaries. "I told you Draco said I could come back stage!" a woman howled.
"Sorry, no visitors," Crabbe grunted, attempting to block a dark head of hair, which Severus would've known anywhere. He turned to fix his singer with a glare, but there was a large crack, followed by a snort from where Zabini sat.
Severus stopped himself from growling.
"If you don't move out my way, you great ape, I'll Crucio you there and back again." When Pansy Parkinson made threats, most of the world listened.
Severus sighed. He hated dealing with ex-wives. "Let her through, Crabbe."
Crabbe grunted and stepped aside to make way for the former Mrs Draco Malfoy.
Severus stood up and brushed an invisible piece of lint from his de rigueur black suit. "Pansy," he said tightly. "To what do we owe the honour?"
Pansy Parkinson had never been one of Severus' favourite pupils, but because she had been in his house, Severus had developed a tolerance for her behaviour. After the band had taken off, however, Pansy had become a fixture at Draco's side and in the media.
The only people who had been shocked when Draco and Pansy had gotten married had been the band, but Draco's homosexuality was no deterrent to marriage in the eyes of the record label.
Draco and Pansy had lasted all of eleven months, and not-so-surprisingly, produced no heirs.
"Don't play coy with me, Severus, where is my good-for-nothing ex-husband? Out shagging Harry Potter look-alikes again?"
Zabini's snort this time was much louder, and Severus pulled his mobile out his pocket, stared at it until it transfigured back to his wand, and then pointed it over his shoulder at Zabini in warning. "I think you can see for yourself that he's not here right now, Pansy, he's doing an interview with Radio One."
"And my name is Kylie Minogue," Pansy retorted. "You tell him that I said that if he doesn't start exercising some restraint, and stop appearing as Blind Items in Popbitch, I will tell the entire world that the band is nothing more than a magical illusion and that that Draco's real voice could peel paint from the walls."
Severus sighed. Pansy was a Slytherin through and through, even though they both knew her threats were meaningless. Upon marrying Draco, Pansy had made her own Unbreakable Vow: in return for a lifetime of comfort and prestige, she would never tell that the band didn't know the first thing about playing music.
All their hits were created with Arithmancy, Dark Magic, and Charms.
The closest The Slytherins had to a musician was Zabini's divine skill in concocting the Arithmantic equations that made up their albums.
"I think we both know that that is not the case, but I will let Draco know you stopped by," Severus said pointedly. "Now, if you would excuse us, the band needs to get ready for the show. Why don't you go take your seat? Just because you're divorced doesn't mean you shouldn't support Draco's endeavours, correct?"
Severus used his Professor voice, the one he employed when the band were this close to working his last nerve. Pansy temper quelled visibly, and she bit her lower lip.
"Of course, Prof –- Severus."
Pansy turned on impossibly high heeles and stalked off. The door slammed closed behind her, and Severus took mild note that the band had not said one word to her.
"Well, that was special," Nott muttered.
"Get off that appalling piece of wood and get ready to perform," Severus snapped, transfiguring his wand back in a brown-coloured Nokia mobile. He glared pointedly at Zabini and Goyle until they both began to move as well.
There was another crack and Draco apparated back onto the sofa. "If you ever do that again -–" Severus began, only to let his threats die off when he took his singer's appearance.
Draco's cheeks were flushed with color, and his hair was mussed. He looked as though he'd been lingering in dark corners with Gryffindors.
"Draco Malfoy," Severus snapped, "If you've been consorting with -–"
Draco cut him off, clambering to his feet in excitement. "You'll never guess who's in the audience," he said, his voice high and tight.
It took Severus a moment to realise Malfoy was thrumming with something. "Have you been in the Felix Felicis again?" he said warningly.
"Where on earth did you go?" Zabini rubbed his head, showing interest in something for the first time in an age.
Severus had been told that bassists in music groups were traditionally very reticent and indolent, but Zabini seemed to be a breed apart. Severus suspected that it had a lot to do with the fact that he was shagging their guitarist.
"Harry fucking Potter," Draco announced. "Harry fucking Potter is in the audience."
"Did you splinch your brain?" Zabini retorted.
"I'm serious." Draco was now a whirling dervish of moment, using his own mobile phone to transfigure his perfectly acceptable clothing into -–
"Leather trousers?" Nott's voice echoed Severus's disdain. "You're having a laugh, aren't you?"
"Too much?" Draco looked at Blaise.
Zabini scoffed. "Not if you're Mick Jagger."
"You're right," Draco nodded and transfigured his clothing again.
Severus's nose wrinkled at the typical well-worn jeans and the threadbare tee shirt that The Slytherins' fans seemed to love, but Zabini and Nott nodded and changed their clothing into something similar.
"I would take this to mean that you'll be performing after all," Severus mocked, waving the band towards the door.
Draco smirked. "It would never do to disappoint the audience," he said, rubbing at the Dark Mark on his forearm.
"Or the record label." Nott rubbed his own Dark Mark.
"Or Potter," Blaise snickered.
"Or Voldemort," Goyle added.
Everyone paused and turned to stare at Goyle.
Gregory swallowed. "Sorry, I mean The Artist Formerly Known as Voldemort."
Draco sighed dramatically. "The sacrifices I make for my Lord; no one knows my suffering."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "You can suffer in the morning, Draco. Tonight, you're a rock and roll star."
-end-
Yes, the bit about marijuana is true. I've been looking for a story to use that in for ages! Title provided by Oasis and their little ditty 'Rock-n-Roll Star'.
Happy Friday!
kattiya I hate you with the all-consuming passion of a thousand Crucios. I am not writing scar-fic. Dedicated to oxoniensis because she's having a stressful day, I present a little thing that, around my way, we call CRACK FIC!Harry Potter
Tonight, I'm a Rock and Roll Star
FYI: There is a very very tiny HBP spoiler here
"I'm not going on. I've changed my mind."
Draco Malfoy flicked his impossibly blonde fringe out of his face and fixed his manager with a haughty look. His entirely too small tee shirt rode up as he flung himself on the over-stuffed sofa that, in Severus' opinion, looked like an Oxfam reject.
Severus couldn't even begin to imagine the sort of germs that such a piece of furniture might contain. He hoped that they might swarm Draco's brain and addle him into a more tolerable mood.
Blaise Zabini looked up from the music magazine in his lap and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he snapped in the manner of long-suffering.
Severus just glared at his bass player. Zabini knew nothing about long suffering.
Managing a rock band -– that was long suffering.
Draco produced a pack of Silk Cut from somewhere on his person and placed a cigarette between his lips. "I've decided that I'm going to do something much more useful with my life," he announced, not actually bothering to light the cigarette.
"You mean sterlisation?" Theodore quipped from the corner where he was sprawled out in a brokendown chair. The Slytherins' lead guitarist had transfigured the plush Wembley arrangement into something he felt was more "rock and roll".
Severus would never understand the need of the band to make everything appear "authentic". If their playing wasn't authentic -- which it wasn't -- the trappings certainly shouldn't have mattered, but apparently they did.
"There will be no more crawling on stage and causing stampedes in the audiences," Severus said pointedly. "The Dark –- Mr Riddle feels that that sort of PR isn't in the band's best interests."
That was the entirety of his response to Draco's ultimatum. They went through this before every gig, and frankly, Severus was fucking sick of it. If Draco hadn't been one of the biggest rock stars in all of the United Kingdom –- well, in all of the Western Hemisphere -- he would've Avada Kedavra'd him without thought, but there was the matter of that stupid Unbreakable Vow that he'd made with the record company.
He'd vowed that he wouldn't kill Draco himself, nor let any of the other band members do the same.
It was a decision that repeatedly came back to kick Severus in the backside.
"You will go out there and sing for those infernal shrieking harpies who buy your albums, or I will call the record label and have you strung up by your gonads."
"I'm not afraid of the label." Draco took the cigarette from between his lips and tucked it behind his ear.
"Right, because no one lives in fear of Sir Thomas Riddle," Nott snarked. "Pull the other one, Malfoy, it's got bells on it."
"You'll have bells on it, if you don't pack it in," Draco shot back.
"Who's got bells on them then?" Gregory Goyle, the drummer, looked up from the crafts table, an entire Galaxy bar wedged in his mouth.
Goyle spent the majority of his time in a marijuana-induced stupor and tended to be ignored by most of the band -– and most of the fans. He had a rather cultish set of groupies, however, who were incredibly devoted to him and provided him with a fresh supply of weed in every city.
"Shut up, Goyle." Draco was all derision as he shifted on the sofa, splaying his legs provocatively, and grabbing for the bottle of Firewhiskey that he'd wedged between the cushions. "I'm serious, Severus, I'm tired of going out and performing for these thankless Muggles. I don't see why we can't just Imperio the lot of them."
"Because your inconsiderable skills couldn't Imperio a Muggle cat," Theodore retorted.
"They're more than enough to Imperio your scrawny arse," Draco replied.
"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, The Dark Lord feels that this insipid noise you play -– and I use the word 'play' loosely -– is able to reach a wider range of victims, err, listeners. Did you pay no attention in the marketing meeting last week?"
"That's what we have you for," Draco said brightly.
Severus scowled.
"Did you know that 'Muggle' is actually the term that was used in the 1920s and 30s to refer to marijuana?" Goyle said randomly. "Louis Armstrong even wrote a song about it."
The entire room fell silent.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Blaise said derisively, flinging his copy of NME at Goyle's head. "I don’t know where you dream up this insipid nonsense."
"Goyle is correct," Severus said slowly, pausing afterwards to contemplate the horror of what he'd just said. "Armstrong was an American wizard."
"There's no such thing," Draco said disdainfully. "Everyone knows the Colonies are all inbred. The idea alone is -–"
"The idea that you don’t think American wizards exist says it all." Blaise retorted. "Much like you."
"Are you still vexed over that business this morning?" Draco knocked back a large quantity of firewhiskey, and Severus felt his stomach turn in revolt. The unending drama between his bassist and his lead singer was giving him an ulcer. "I told you that boy didn't mean anything, I don't know how he found his way into my hotel room."
"I don't care who sucks your cock." Blaise made a dismissive motion with his hand. "I care when it makes us late for radio appearances."
Nott snickered, and Severus cast him a warning look. The last thing he needed was Draco in a strop because he felt Zabini wasn't jealous.
"He was quite good, you know," Draco said slyly. "He had this mouth on him that wouldn't quit."
"Much like your mouth," Zabini retorted.
"Touche!" said Nott.
"Yes, you're all quite amusing, but -–"
Severus was cut off by a commotion across the room. There was a loud rapping at the door, followed by what sounded like a scuffle and the door flew open, banging against the wall behind it. Vincent Crabbe's mammoth figure filled most of the entryway, but the shrill, shrieking voice knew no boundaries. "I told you Draco said I could come back stage!" a woman howled.
"Sorry, no visitors," Crabbe grunted, attempting to block a dark head of hair, which Severus would've known anywhere. He turned to fix his singer with a glare, but there was a large crack, followed by a snort from where Zabini sat.
Severus stopped himself from growling.
"If you don't move out my way, you great ape, I'll Crucio you there and back again." When Pansy Parkinson made threats, most of the world listened.
Severus sighed. He hated dealing with ex-wives. "Let her through, Crabbe."
Crabbe grunted and stepped aside to make way for the former Mrs Draco Malfoy.
Severus stood up and brushed an invisible piece of lint from his de rigueur black suit. "Pansy," he said tightly. "To what do we owe the honour?"
Pansy Parkinson had never been one of Severus' favourite pupils, but because she had been in his house, Severus had developed a tolerance for her behaviour. After the band had taken off, however, Pansy had become a fixture at Draco's side and in the media.
The only people who had been shocked when Draco and Pansy had gotten married had been the band, but Draco's homosexuality was no deterrent to marriage in the eyes of the record label.
Draco and Pansy had lasted all of eleven months, and not-so-surprisingly, produced no heirs.
"Don't play coy with me, Severus, where is my good-for-nothing ex-husband? Out shagging Harry Potter look-alikes again?"
Zabini's snort this time was much louder, and Severus pulled his mobile out his pocket, stared at it until it transfigured back to his wand, and then pointed it over his shoulder at Zabini in warning. "I think you can see for yourself that he's not here right now, Pansy, he's doing an interview with Radio One."
"And my name is Kylie Minogue," Pansy retorted. "You tell him that I said that if he doesn't start exercising some restraint, and stop appearing as Blind Items in Popbitch, I will tell the entire world that the band is nothing more than a magical illusion and that that Draco's real voice could peel paint from the walls."
Severus sighed. Pansy was a Slytherin through and through, even though they both knew her threats were meaningless. Upon marrying Draco, Pansy had made her own Unbreakable Vow: in return for a lifetime of comfort and prestige, she would never tell that the band didn't know the first thing about playing music.
All their hits were created with Arithmancy, Dark Magic, and Charms.
The closest The Slytherins had to a musician was Zabini's divine skill in concocting the Arithmantic equations that made up their albums.
"I think we both know that that is not the case, but I will let Draco know you stopped by," Severus said pointedly. "Now, if you would excuse us, the band needs to get ready for the show. Why don't you go take your seat? Just because you're divorced doesn't mean you shouldn't support Draco's endeavours, correct?"
Severus used his Professor voice, the one he employed when the band were this close to working his last nerve. Pansy temper quelled visibly, and she bit her lower lip.
"Of course, Prof –- Severus."
Pansy turned on impossibly high heeles and stalked off. The door slammed closed behind her, and Severus took mild note that the band had not said one word to her.
"Well, that was special," Nott muttered.
"Get off that appalling piece of wood and get ready to perform," Severus snapped, transfiguring his wand back in a brown-coloured Nokia mobile. He glared pointedly at Zabini and Goyle until they both began to move as well.
There was another crack and Draco apparated back onto the sofa. "If you ever do that again -–" Severus began, only to let his threats die off when he took his singer's appearance.
Draco's cheeks were flushed with color, and his hair was mussed. He looked as though he'd been lingering in dark corners with Gryffindors.
"Draco Malfoy," Severus snapped, "If you've been consorting with -–"
Draco cut him off, clambering to his feet in excitement. "You'll never guess who's in the audience," he said, his voice high and tight.
It took Severus a moment to realise Malfoy was thrumming with something. "Have you been in the Felix Felicis again?" he said warningly.
"Where on earth did you go?" Zabini rubbed his head, showing interest in something for the first time in an age.
Severus had been told that bassists in music groups were traditionally very reticent and indolent, but Zabini seemed to be a breed apart. Severus suspected that it had a lot to do with the fact that he was shagging their guitarist.
"Harry fucking Potter," Draco announced. "Harry fucking Potter is in the audience."
"Did you splinch your brain?" Zabini retorted.
"I'm serious." Draco was now a whirling dervish of moment, using his own mobile phone to transfigure his perfectly acceptable clothing into -–
"Leather trousers?" Nott's voice echoed Severus's disdain. "You're having a laugh, aren't you?"
"Too much?" Draco looked at Blaise.
Zabini scoffed. "Not if you're Mick Jagger."
"You're right," Draco nodded and transfigured his clothing again.
Severus's nose wrinkled at the typical well-worn jeans and the threadbare tee shirt that The Slytherins' fans seemed to love, but Zabini and Nott nodded and changed their clothing into something similar.
"I would take this to mean that you'll be performing after all," Severus mocked, waving the band towards the door.
Draco smirked. "It would never do to disappoint the audience," he said, rubbing at the Dark Mark on his forearm.
"Or the record label." Nott rubbed his own Dark Mark.
"Or Potter," Blaise snickered.
"Or Voldemort," Goyle added.
Everyone paused and turned to stare at Goyle.
Gregory swallowed. "Sorry, I mean The Artist Formerly Known as Voldemort."
Draco sighed dramatically. "The sacrifices I make for my Lord; no one knows my suffering."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "You can suffer in the morning, Draco. Tonight, you're a rock and roll star."
-end-
Yes, the bit about marijuana is true. I've been looking for a story to use that in for ages! Title provided by Oasis and their little ditty 'Rock-n-Roll Star'.
Happy Friday!
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-25 05:39 pm (UTC)I know you meant the furniture, but I thought it was a quip on Draco procreating at first and rolled.
"Did you know that 'Muggle' is actually the term than was used in the 1920s and 30s to refer to marijuana?"
Oh, fancy seeing you here!
The last thing he needed was Draco in a strop because he felt Zabini wasn't jealous.
Oh dear. HA!
Pansy had made her own Unbreakable Vow: in return for a lifetime of comfort and prestige, she would never tell that the band didn't know the first thing about playing music.
Can I please get in on this sort of situation involving Ewan's gear and an unending shoe supply?
"Have you been in the Felix Felicis again?" he said warningly.
YEEEEEEEEahhhhh!
Gregory swallowed. "Sorry, I mean The Artist Formerly Known as Voldemort."
ok, you win.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-25 05:44 pm (UTC)No, you had it right the first time, it really is a joke about procreation. Also, the Felix thing was just for you. Just saying.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-25 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-25 06:49 pm (UTC)You are so imaginative that it's really quite scary. Tell me more.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 12:23 am (UTC)So:
There could be several different ways to ensure the continuation of magic through creative procreation. They don't understand science, and probably have no real concept of genetics, just as far as they would know that if you keep marrying 1st cousins, you end up with Malfoys. That's all just fine for Malfoys, but some people like skin with some color other than blue and hair with some color besides clear.
Now, if you are a witch/wizard and your only child (and this is a v small community, so you have to think here in terms of survivability of species) says "look, mum, I'm a lesbian, and I won't marry a man, not even if it's Blaise" you still have options. There is bound to be a way to combine female to female genetic material. Let's call that the Boadicea Baby Complex (because it would have to be a combination of a charm, a potion, and arithmancy).
But if your only child said "mum, I won't be getting any bird up the duff on account of my distress over even comtemplating the disgusting bits girls have down there" you have a slightly more complex problem that most fic writers just resolve by having mpreg. We will ignore that as, yes a fantastically magical option, but retarded (retarder than the stupidity I am about to posit). So, you have a son, let's call him Neville, and he's the last of the family. He likes to take it up the bum from his boyfriend, let's call him Teddy. Let's actually say you have a grandson named Neville and you acknowledge that Teddy is quite fit, if a wee tad skinny, and his freckles are quite appealing and might not be too horrible to see on the face of your great-granddaughter (who, incidentally, will be named after her aunt Kassandra whether Neville realizes or approves of it or not). You're a little too old to carry your great grandchild as a surrogate mother--even if Molly Weasley *cough* but we won't discuss that youngest Weasley child (even if no one could possible NOT know she's Charles's, really).
So, you're contemplating the end of your lineage because your only grandson --who is quite stapping and fit, mind, not in the least bit like a Malfoy--will never see the inside of any woman's legs, you have to sort your options:
1. Find a pureblooded lesbian witch who would happy untake the Boadicea Baby thingambobber with Neville and carry the child. This has the downside of dealing with her family and herself, plus Teddy isn't too thrilled with a woman in the picture for good. He's the jealous type.
2. You find a pureblooded squib woman who will just carry the off-spring of Neville and Teddy created with Helga's Homogenious Helper. Trouble: the child will be doomed to be a Hufflepuff. No one's figured out how to take that clause out of the spell.
3. Neville and Teddy adopt an abandoned squib child. But how does that keep your family alive? It doesn't.
4. Neville and Teddy adopt one of the children orphaned in the war. See above.
5. Neville and Teddy volunteer for Rhys Montague's newest crackpot experiments which he swears has a 78% survival rate which produces, through magic only--with only donated hair, tears, blood, and *cough* other substances--a child grown in a large pumpkin.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 10:52 am (UTC)I'd thought it would have to be something difficult, or arduous, or fiendishly complicated (though not impossible) or - disregarding the sexuality issue in favour of the general breeding one - there would be many, many more pureblood wizards than there are now. I thought, well, y'know, there ought to be consequences, like it's possible for two wizards to have a child together without it being mpreg (more a sort of complicated continuous summoning charm, transfiguration and arithmancy to build the womb-matrix), but it would require them to invest all their magical energy during the gestation. And really, that would be as much a disincentive to those taking a fashionable walk on the wildside to piss off their parents.