This is ... this is everything I love in fic. A perfect blend of humour and thoughtfulness, a touching story of complex characters with flaws, abilities, and little habits, with nonmainstream attitudes and nonmainstream physical features, and with a sex life (no matter what Ron thinks.) There's thoughtful handling of disability (love that despite the believable insecurities and misunderstandings they find a way to make it work), and then there's gorgeous, gorgeous writing. Line after line is a triumph; I love the dialogue and the voice, Filius's Durmstrang backstory and international background, his way of expressing himself, and your ingenious portrayal of his field of vision in the beginning. And Pomona with her lopsided breasts and dimpled thighs.
"I'm proportionate!" There it was, the crux of the matter, and he probably should have thanked Wilfred Cummings for his brutal honesty rather than hexing him. Pomona's initial distress dissolved into ingenuous confusion. "I should hope so. If you were hung like Hagrid, I'm afraid I'd have to cry off. I'm not exactly cavernous, myself." -- Sheer glory. I wonder if I'm to infer that Pomona actually knows how Hagrid is hung. Also, "cavernous" ♥
clitoris--located, thumbed, and tongued -- Check.
"You're beautiful when you come, y'know. Seeing you and touching you and being able to do . . . that with you--" Her voice quavered, recovered, and wobbled on. "--is more than enough pleasure for me." Without pausing, she slapped his cheek fiercely, wrapped her robes around her naked body, and stalked to the fireplace. As she reached for the Floo powder, she hissed, "I'm nobody's whore." -- This left me literally breathless.
"I think it was Proust who said, 'Let us leave pretty women to men without imagination.' Neville? He has imagination." -- He would.
"Long-distance Erotic Charms, Vicarious Vibrators, Wicked Wood . . . . Blimey, George! When'd you find time to invent all this?" -- Would that be www.www.co.uk, and do they take credit cards?