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crack_van2011-08-30 09:22 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-08-30 09:22 pm
Entry tags:
The Ladies of Godric's Hollow by tetleythesecond (R)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Griselda Marchbanks/Bathilda Bagshot, implied background Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Length: 17,000
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tetleythesecond
Author Website: tetley's mistresslist of fics
Why this must be read:
This story astonished me when I first read it. Then I read it again, and it astonished me a second time. It's moving and chilling, brilliantly conceived and rounded with historically persuasive descriptions and portraits so fleshed out, so recognizable and distinct, so brimming with ideals and betrayal, wit and tragic hindsight, that it's like reading a novel in miniature. The narrative moves back and forth between the past and present, between the beginnings of a relationship and the end of a life, from the first stirrings of evil and inevitable war to the moment before the curtain falls, decades later, on Voldemort's ruthless crusade. The heart of the story involves a relationship withered on the vine, a casualty of extreme measures and broken faiths, although Tetley isn't the least sentimental and allows Griselda, the still-lucid once-lover, to acknowledge that she and Bathilda might have failed anyway, even if Bathilda's wild nephew Gellert and his friend Dumbledore hadn't violated the bonds of blood and honor.
The story starts in canon's present time, and it deals with Bathilda's senility and frailty with almost unbearable tenderness. But Griselda, her 'Dearest,' is drawn back in memory to the nineteenth century, to a ladies' educational meeting and her first encounter with a somewhat untidy intellectual historian. Tetley's evocation of the period is superb, and the excitement of new ideas, the emphasis on principles, the shared dream of a girls' vocational school, drives home the fact that the Muggle and wizarding worlds were equally condescending and restrictive where women and witches were concerned. Alas, sometimes principles are not enough; sometimes reality imposes demoralizing choices and corrupts even those made of sterner stuff. Sometimes, in protecting those we love, we leave ourselves forever estranged.
There's so much about this fic to admire and more to love (it's hard not to crush instantly on Eleanor Bones, for example). The inventiveness of the offhand details creates a marvelous richness, as does the increasingly shadowed atmosphere and the range of voices, the little nods to canon. One aspect that inspires my love is the way the once-ennobling belief in education and self-betterment permeates the fic. Yes, the sorrow of bitter wisdom, of defeated idealism, haunts Griselda, the conscience-stricken survivor from that hopeful time; yet the passion for good works and higher thought still burns brightly. Over it all hangs the reader's knowledge of Bathilda's eventual fate, which occurs outside the story's scope yet adds a touch of horror, pity, and a sense that history comes for us all.
In sum, I love this fic to pieces; it resides permanently on my desert-island list.
~~*~~
Griselda leaned her cane against the kitchen wall and opened Bathilda's pantry.
She'd helped Bathilda dress and brushed her hair, and now she cast a quick glance around the sparsely-stocked shelves, looking for something that might do for lunch. After a dismissive frown at the oatmeal and milk, she took two eggs and a sprig from the potted thyme on the windowsill. Bathilda loved thyme.
Little had they known back then, Griselda thought as she cracked open the eggs and let their contents glide into a bowl. Little had they known that after that evening at Eleanor's, Bathilda and she would hardly spend a day apart for the next twenty years, and after a short while, even hardly a night.
They must have spent hours in those armchairs. Griselda had a good memory and a fondness for well-presented facts, so she'd given Bathilda a nearly unabridged version of what she had heard in the music room. Bathilda had listened with rapture, and in the discussion that ensued they soon discovered that they shared a love of learning and an interest in teaching (though Bathilda saw herself more writing textbooks than standing in front of a classroom), and a passion for philanthropy. They had discussed the condition of girls, Platonic versus Victorian teaching methods, concepts of education from French Muggles to Dilys Derwent and the new Dean of the Salem Institute, and had just arrived at the mutual confession of their complete lack of talent for household spells, when it suddenly dawned on them that they were being watched.
Eleanor Bones was sitting on the chaise longue by the fireplace, smoking a slender pipe and looking genuinely amused at what she saw. "Don't let me rush you," she laughed, holding up a hand as they both shot up from their armchairs.
Everyone else had already left.
First-time guests and already the last ones to leave -- it was nowhere near what they both had been taught. They took their leave with curtseys that Eleanor reciprocated with hand kisses, and as they readied themselves to Disapparate from the front hall, they agreed that they should meet again soon. It was quickly decided what they would do. Griselda couldn't boil an egg to save her life, and Bathilda had two left hands with kitchen tools. Thus, nothing seemed to make more sense than to combine their inadequacies and continue their conversation over an attempt at producing dinner at Bathilda's the next evening.
And here I stand and haven't improved a bit, Griselda thought as she eyed the yellow mass in the frying pan, charred on one side and glibbery on the other. Merlin, had she forgotten to put butter into the pan? She quickly wondered if she should dare a second attempt, but she decided that it didn't matter. Perhaps it would bring back a memory. It would certainly taste of Dearest.
The Ladies of Godric's Hollow
Pairing: Griselda Marchbanks/Bathilda Bagshot, implied background Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Length: 17,000
Author on LJ:
tetleythesecondAuthor Website: tetley's mistresslist of fics
Why this must be read:
This story astonished me when I first read it. Then I read it again, and it astonished me a second time. It's moving and chilling, brilliantly conceived and rounded with historically persuasive descriptions and portraits so fleshed out, so recognizable and distinct, so brimming with ideals and betrayal, wit and tragic hindsight, that it's like reading a novel in miniature. The narrative moves back and forth between the past and present, between the beginnings of a relationship and the end of a life, from the first stirrings of evil and inevitable war to the moment before the curtain falls, decades later, on Voldemort's ruthless crusade. The heart of the story involves a relationship withered on the vine, a casualty of extreme measures and broken faiths, although Tetley isn't the least sentimental and allows Griselda, the still-lucid once-lover, to acknowledge that she and Bathilda might have failed anyway, even if Bathilda's wild nephew Gellert and his friend Dumbledore hadn't violated the bonds of blood and honor.
The story starts in canon's present time, and it deals with Bathilda's senility and frailty with almost unbearable tenderness. But Griselda, her 'Dearest,' is drawn back in memory to the nineteenth century, to a ladies' educational meeting and her first encounter with a somewhat untidy intellectual historian. Tetley's evocation of the period is superb, and the excitement of new ideas, the emphasis on principles, the shared dream of a girls' vocational school, drives home the fact that the Muggle and wizarding worlds were equally condescending and restrictive where women and witches were concerned. Alas, sometimes principles are not enough; sometimes reality imposes demoralizing choices and corrupts even those made of sterner stuff. Sometimes, in protecting those we love, we leave ourselves forever estranged.
There's so much about this fic to admire and more to love (it's hard not to crush instantly on Eleanor Bones, for example). The inventiveness of the offhand details creates a marvelous richness, as does the increasingly shadowed atmosphere and the range of voices, the little nods to canon. One aspect that inspires my love is the way the once-ennobling belief in education and self-betterment permeates the fic. Yes, the sorrow of bitter wisdom, of defeated idealism, haunts Griselda, the conscience-stricken survivor from that hopeful time; yet the passion for good works and higher thought still burns brightly. Over it all hangs the reader's knowledge of Bathilda's eventual fate, which occurs outside the story's scope yet adds a touch of horror, pity, and a sense that history comes for us all.
In sum, I love this fic to pieces; it resides permanently on my desert-island list.
Griselda leaned her cane against the kitchen wall and opened Bathilda's pantry.
She'd helped Bathilda dress and brushed her hair, and now she cast a quick glance around the sparsely-stocked shelves, looking for something that might do for lunch. After a dismissive frown at the oatmeal and milk, she took two eggs and a sprig from the potted thyme on the windowsill. Bathilda loved thyme.
Little had they known back then, Griselda thought as she cracked open the eggs and let their contents glide into a bowl. Little had they known that after that evening at Eleanor's, Bathilda and she would hardly spend a day apart for the next twenty years, and after a short while, even hardly a night.
They must have spent hours in those armchairs. Griselda had a good memory and a fondness for well-presented facts, so she'd given Bathilda a nearly unabridged version of what she had heard in the music room. Bathilda had listened with rapture, and in the discussion that ensued they soon discovered that they shared a love of learning and an interest in teaching (though Bathilda saw herself more writing textbooks than standing in front of a classroom), and a passion for philanthropy. They had discussed the condition of girls, Platonic versus Victorian teaching methods, concepts of education from French Muggles to Dilys Derwent and the new Dean of the Salem Institute, and had just arrived at the mutual confession of their complete lack of talent for household spells, when it suddenly dawned on them that they were being watched.
Eleanor Bones was sitting on the chaise longue by the fireplace, smoking a slender pipe and looking genuinely amused at what she saw. "Don't let me rush you," she laughed, holding up a hand as they both shot up from their armchairs.
Everyone else had already left.
First-time guests and already the last ones to leave -- it was nowhere near what they both had been taught. They took their leave with curtseys that Eleanor reciprocated with hand kisses, and as they readied themselves to Disapparate from the front hall, they agreed that they should meet again soon. It was quickly decided what they would do. Griselda couldn't boil an egg to save her life, and Bathilda had two left hands with kitchen tools. Thus, nothing seemed to make more sense than to combine their inadequacies and continue their conversation over an attempt at producing dinner at Bathilda's the next evening.
And here I stand and haven't improved a bit, Griselda thought as she eyed the yellow mass in the frying pan, charred on one side and glibbery on the other. Merlin, had she forgotten to put butter into the pan? She quickly wondered if she should dare a second attempt, but she decided that it didn't matter. Perhaps it would bring back a memory. It would certainly taste of Dearest.
The Ladies of Godric's Hollow
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Thank you for your kind words! :) I signed up with LJ back in the day because I wanted so badly to leave comments for fandom's amazing authors. Reccing was a natural evolution from that.