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operatingroomHarry Potter Non-Canon Ships Comment Ficathon
THE RULES ARE THUS:
1. WHAT MAKES A NON-CANON SHIP? Anything that is not at least one-sided in the books. This means that Snape/Lily is canon, even if she may (or may not) have ever reciprocated. Bellatrix/Voldemort is canon. Lavendar/Ron is canon. Obviously everyone who's married and/or dates is canon. OBHWF is canon, Harry/Cho is canon. Ships that are not stated as fact in the books are not canon. That means UC ships are good, slash is good, femslash is good. For our purposes, we are not counting JKR's interviews as canon. That means that if you wanted to prompt, say, who knows, Hannah/Neville, you could, because it's not in the text itself.
2. You leave a comment with a pairing and a prompt. You respond to prompts that you like. Your prompt must pertain to a non-canon ship. You may specify a character within that ship if you want the fic written from that characters perspective. You may also specify a timeline if you'd like, or if you want it to take place in the movie!verse.
3. When writing fic, put in your title SHIP - TITLE OF FIC (rating optional). This will help us archive if we later archive things. I don't have time to archive anything right now, but if someone wants to volunteer, we can make that happen.
4. LEAVE FEEDBACK. Comments are the lifeblood of the internet.
5. NO WANK. I'll delete your ass. And we're dealing with ships and I am deletion happy, so watch yourself.
6. There will be spoilers for the movie all over this post, I am sure. You have been warned.
7. Promote this if you please. You can use this code:
For text link:
In the image code box, you can use any of the banners below or the lead banner at the top of the post.
They're all uploaded to tinypic, so you can just copy/paste the source code:
by eleusis_walks
by superkappaby
lenina20:
If you want to make your own banner, please post it here.
Have fun!
ETA:
effingeden has graciously offered to archive our prompts and fic here. Thanks so much!
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james/narcissa; turn me into somebody loved (1/3)
Date: 2010-12-15 02:12 am (UTC).
(it doesn’t matter anymore, really. they’ll never get it right.)
.
it starts when he mishears her name and calls her narcissist in fifth year. it shouldn’t matter much, really, except – except he is the boy with the bright eyes and the obnoxious mouth and she’s always had a thing for idiotic bastards. (or so bella had said; she’d held up the example of her first fling, then her second, and when cissy tells her of the reckless gryffindor, bella laughs until her stomach aches and tosses her an apple.)
and it escalates from there.
.
he has to look twice before he really sees her. and even then, they both just stare at each other, and at the hiding space they’ve both claimed as their own. he breaks first, “what are you doing here, black?”
she looks at him, then crosses her legs. her skirt rides up a little (okay, a lot) and james pretends not to notice. “sorry,” she says, “i don’t speak to blood traitors.” but the fight is gone from her voice and she’s thinking of war and the word pureblood and the name malfoy, so it does not come off as sharp as she means it to be. so when james sits down beside her, she is only a little surprised.
“great! i don’t speak to self-absorbed harpies, so it’s all good, then.”
her pale brows rise at the lame comeback, but she says nothing else.
.
she begins to take refuge in the little place she’s (shared with the potter boy) called her own when the word war lingers like smoke over their heads; she begins to take refuge in his lame jokes and brightbrightbright smile (and sometimes she thinks she’s in love with his smile, and this is preferable to the other option); she begins to take refuge in the way he’s stopped looking at her like she’s dirt and scum (and less-than-Evans) and started looking like her like the words gryffindor and slytherin don’t mean anything.
and he doesn’t listen a lot to her, only when it pertains to him, but she likes hearing his voice – likes hearing about something other than marriage.
it becomes a recurring incidence, her and james, in that little place she calls theirs. (narcissa refuses to call it a routine.)
.
“you know, when i said, ‘accio hottie,’ i didn’t expect it to work!”
pause. turn. startled choking noise.
“sh – didn’t know it was you, nar –”
“you must not be a muggle, because you cast a spell on me.”
eyebrows raise. challenging smirk.
“… would you like a butterbeer? it’s a portkey. next thing you know, we’ll be back at my place.”
“hmm, well, a couple nights with me and moaning myrtle will have to get a new nickname.”
surprised laughter. smile. repeat.
.
james/narcissa; turn me into somebody loved (2/3)
Date: 2010-12-15 02:14 am (UTC)their first kiss is clumsy, with teeth crashing and noses bumping, and it’s not entirely voluntary, but they get better at it.
.
“i saw him with the mudblood girl at hogsmeade,” bellatrix says, sneering over in the direction of the gryffindor table, “and he’s a pureblood.” this doesn’t hurt. narcissa grips the edge of the table, pretends not to care. (she’s good at that, or so james had said.)
the thing is, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. she’s the one in slytherin – she’s the one who can craft daggers out of words and lace her voice with poison. she isn’t supposed to be the one who gets attached. (but it does hurts the way he looks at the girl-who-isn’t-a-pureblood, at the girl-who-isn’t-her, and it’s getting difficult to hold up the pretence.)
so she just smiles over at him in the way bellatrix would do to one of her lovers, and keeps pretending.
.
but.
but he is breaking her, in increments.
“are you mad?”
she blinks, one, twice, before rearranging her expression into something resembling calm and composed – or at least, this is what she aims for. (she isn’t as careful with him, anymore.)
“what?”
he shifts, awkwardly peering up at her from behind his messy mop of black hair. he doesn’t look her in the eye. “that i didn’t ask you to the winter dance.” (interhouse unity, the posters said, and her lips had twisted in this wry sort of smile that she shared with him.)
“oh,” she clasps her hands together, fingers intertwining. she looks at him and says no, no she isn’t mad; not about this, at least. she isn’t mad, and it doesn’t hurt. he looks ridiculously relieved, to the point where she contemplates hitting him over the head with her potions textbook.
she winds a thick clump of hair onto her fingers, bites her lip, “i have a date, anyways.” narcissa feels james looking at her, but she doesn’t turn her head. he is quiet, sulking for a good half hour, then he suddenly changes, a too-forced positive (because she cannot think of any other word to describe it) expression on his face. he inches closer. touches her fingers, her neck, her lips, her thigh, runs his fingers up her back and touches her bra strap. she jerks away before he can unclasp it, and he looks extremely pleased with himself.
“i’m getting good at that,” he says, proudly. (she can’t stop thinking about who, exactly, he’s been practising on, because it sure as hell isn’t her.)
then, “who is it?”
“not telling.”
“narcissiiiiist.”
“… that’s it, i’m leaving.” and her tone has a teasing lilt to it, one she would have never learned to have, but he has taught her that. but his head still jerks up and his hand flashes out to hers in a motion that – that has never happened before. (he still doesn’t look at her in the way she looks at him.)
“james?”
his hand drops away. she leaves.
.
“i think i would name my kid james, the second.”
“poor kid.”
“i’m not the one named after narcissus. and what name would you give your kid, anyways? another constellation?”
“well. yes.”
“that’s boring. you should name your kid something normal. like michael, or lawrence, or alfred –”
“i am not naming my kid alfred.”
.
james/narcissa; turn me into somebody loved (3/3)
Date: 2010-12-15 02:17 am (UTC)“narcissist.”
“i thought i told you not to call me that. i mean, it’s the end of sixth year. really, james?”
(but in truth –)
“it’s catchy.”
“it’s immature.”
“ciss. cissa,” he tries out. she wrinkles her nose.
“that’s what bella calls me.”
“oh. uh.” pause. “it isn’t my fault your name has too many syllables.”
“too hard for you, potter?”
he stops, grabbing her elbow and bringing her to a stop. she stumbles. “what –” she begins, scowling, but suddenly he is very, very close, so close that she can feel his breath fanning over her cheek.
(– she doesn’t want him to stop.)
“tell me to give up on you.”
she tries to break away, but he won’t let her. it’s the first time she hasn’t been able to walk away. (he’d said he loved her, but she knew – she knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t, not in the way she wanted him to. not in the way he loved her.) narcissa turns her head sharply, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. her book bag falls to her feet. “why?”
his fingers tighten. “because you’re – you’re getting married. after grad.”
she tries to jerk her arm back, twice.
“and you’re in love with –” he lets her go before she can say the name.
.
seventh year.
he has not visited their place in a long, long time now. she gave up after two weeks.
(and maybe the looks he gave her across the great hall had meant something. maybe the times he kissed her might have meant more than just a flimsy, not-relationship. maybe he did – does – love her, in his own way. because she was first.)
.
“i miss you,” her breath is harsh, eyes squeezed shut, and it is very, very unlike her to be so disorganised and without composure but – but she cannot move on without him knowing this.
(it is not love. no; but it is a visceral ache in the depths of her ribs, running along her veins and shattering her bones, and she misses him – the boy with the beautiful smile; the boy that taught her how to laugh; the boy that called her narcissist; the boy that loved her.
but he is long gone.)
he stares at her. “black,” he begins, but the girl with red hair calls his name from around the corner and he is gone.
.
“tell me to give up on you,” she says later, in the hallway when it’s just him and her. narcissa tips her chin up, the very image of composure, and waits to see if he plays along.
he does. “why?”
“because there’s been talk of a war.” she exhales, a shaky gust of air that rattles her. her fingers tremble. “because i’m getting married.” takes a step forward. “because i’m scared.”
he kisses her, then, as if they were hidden away from the world, his knuckles trailing along her jaw, and she can’t help but smirk a little, because she’s taught him well. “give up on me,” he breathes, and releases her.
.
later, she will marry a man she does not quite love and give her firstborn child a name that means nothing to her.
(but she still breaks at the thought of metaphorical apples.)
Re: james/narcissa; turn me into somebody loved (3/3)
Date: 2010-12-15 05:50 am (UTC)thank you so much. ♥
Really, Truly Part 1
Date: 2010-12-15 10:27 pm (UTC)The first time he hears her speak-really, truly hears what she is saying-is at Slughorn’s party. She stands next to him, appearing so suddenly that he jumps when she starts talking.
“She’s in love with Ronald,” is what she says.
He takes a minute to calm and assess what she has said. “She’s here with me,” he returns forcefully, cheeks reddening as she takes her time gazing about. His date is here, but she’s barely with him at all. The look on Loony’s face is mildly curious, but she says nothing of Hermione’s notable absence.
“You’d be far more attractive if only you sneered less,” she offers randomly.
He’s not sure if she intends to be infuriating, but he has little patience regardless. “Go away!” he demands, perhaps a shade louder than actually necessary. She doesn’t even blink, just glides away to meet up with an incoming (and obviously angry) Ginny Weasley.
The younger Gryffindor glares at him threateningly, but Loony pats her shoulder and then links arms with the redhead before leading her away. “Nargles,” he can hear her saying as she waves a hand back to indicate him.
He grinds his teeth, knocks back his punch (why hadn’t anyone spiked it with Firewhiskey yet?), and goes off in search of his date.
~0~
The first time he hears her sigh-truly, wistfully sigh-it is at Dumbledore’s funeral. She’s not crying, like every other girl in sight; she’s not even looking particularly devastated, as much of the boys. She looks, rather, wistful, like Dumbledore had gone off on some extended holiday, but would be back one day. It’s like she doesn’t even realize Dumbledore was gone for good.
“I am familiar with the finality of death,” she chirps in response to his query (another overly heated remarks that now has Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom glaring at him menacingly). “But what’s the worse is what he had to have known going into that death.”
“What are you on about?” he snaps, returning the glare of his fellow Gryffindors with equal ferocity because, really, Loony is beyond maddening at the moment. She gives him a look, a sad, pitying look. “He must have known, things are going to get much worse.”
And he has nothing to add because she’s terribly right some of the time.
~0~
The first time he hears her giggle-a real, carefree, joyous giggle-is when they slip off the train at the start of his seventh year.
“More imaginary friends?” he asks, his mood still sour from the Death Eater invasion of the train earlier. “What do you call them? Sillybillies? Whirliburlies?”
“Not a wrackspurt in sight,” she announces cheerfully. “And it has allowed you to live up to your full potential at last.”
He hasn’t the mental prowess required to hold a conversation with her in her more spectacular moods. “Huh?”
“On the train,” she reminds him. “You stood up to them, in front of everyone. You were the first to do so.”
“And?”
She smiles dreamily, eyes wandering off to locate her friends in the crowd. “A Gryffindor after all,” she murmurs happily.
His ears go red, he’s sure, and he spins on his heel. “Enough already,” he snarls.
She continues to giggle behind him. He’s loathed to admit, even to himself, that it is a slightly less aggravating noise than he previously assessed it to be.
~0~
Really, Truly Part 2
Date: 2010-12-15 10:28 pm (UTC)The first time he hears her hex someone-truly, frightfully, powerfully hex someone-is when a group of sixth year Slytherins have taken to pummelling first and second years to obtain ‘information’ for the Carrows.
He’s busy rolling up his sleeves, as are other Gryffindors around him, when he hears the hex being shouted from a shadowy corner of the courtyard. Immediately, all three bullies fall over, Stunned, and she hurries out of the shadows, a look of urgency replacing the perpetually dreamy look she usually maintains.
“Quick!” she hisses, “before the Carrows arrive!”
They all scatter, and he grabs her by the elbow and leads her hastily away. “Are you mad?” he demands. “We had them.”
She stares back at him calmly. “The punishment isn’t worth the heroics, not when the young ones are involved. Here!”
She pushes something into his hand and then shrugs out of his hold before racing for her Common Room. He looks down and sees she has pressed a coin into his palm.
That night, he sneaks away to his first Resistance meeting, and he can’t help but feel warmed by the radiant smile she throws his way.
~0~
The first time he hears her scream-real, painful, gut-wrenching screams-is also the last time he wants to hear her do so ever again.
It’s not the first time the Carrows have sought to punish them, but it is the first time they punish with torture. She doesn’t mean to scream, he can see it in the way she presses her lips tightly together after those initial few escape her. But the shock of the Cruciatus Curse is too much; the pain is too fierce. They’ve been told of this Unforgivable almost all their lives, contemplated it in hushed whispers and gravely serious conversations. But nothing can prepare them for the reality of it, the sheer brutality of it. She screams in true pain, real anguish, because she has never known such an infliction before.
He wants to lay waste to her assailants, grind their bones under his heels. He truly, honestly, wants to murder the fools that are doing this to her. But he can’t, because they are doing it to him as well.
“They’ll pay for it,” he gasps afterwards, when they are back in the Gryffindor Comme Room while his housemates try their best to heal what cannot be treated. “I swear they’re going to pay.”
“They already are,” she assures him from the protective huddle of Ginny Weasley’s arms. “They just don’t know it yet.”
~0~
Really, Truly Part 3
Date: 2010-12-15 10:29 pm (UTC)The first time he hears her beg-truly beg and plead-is when they come for her.
They are coming back from Winter Break; he doesn’t know why they’re coming back at all. Routine, he decides, the only comfort available to them now. That and the Death Eaters have given them very little choice in the matter.
The train stops, not quite at the school just yet. They come aboard, just like before. he hears them coming, hears the name they are calling.
He has her hidden away in the nearest bathroom, his wand out and at the ready, before she has the wherewithal to protest. She grabs at his hand and he shrugs her off, knowing what she will say before she says it.
“Please,” she finally whispers, and there are tears in her pale blue eyes. The Death Eaters are getting closer and her panic mounts by the second. “Please!”
He shakes his head, squares his jaw, and plants his feet firmly in a defensive position. “Please,” she tries again, “I don’t want them to hurt you.”
Her fingers are on his arm, he shakes them off; her fingers on his cheek are harder to ignore. She tips his head her way and makes her final plea. “Please, they need you at the school.”
He pauses, heart heavy and thoughts chaotic; the Death Eaters are even closer now. He grabs her before she can blink, presses hungry-angry-frustrated lips against hers, which are no less famished, no less enraged, and no less helpless. He kisses her hard, tongue demanding, hands gripping her hard enough to bruise. She returns with a duelling tongue and fingers clutching at his hair hard enough to tear. It goes on forever, it ends too quick; and she pulls back with a sad smile and watery eyes.
“I’ll see you again,” she promises, and they both know that it is uncertain.
He watches them take her away and feels the loss of something never truly, officially his-and yet his all the same.
~0~
no subject
Date: 2010-12-16 01:10 am (UTC)Re: Ron Weasley/Luna Lovegood-Wonder
Date: 2010-12-16 01:11 am (UTC)Re: fleur/viktor :: we were promised glory
Date: 2010-12-16 01:15 am (UTC)I like the hints of Fleur's own insecurites throughout the fic, because I've read so many fics where she's a total ice queen! Lovely job.
Re: harry/hermione/ron. children of a lesser god.
Date: 2010-12-16 04:25 am (UTC)FILL: the moss of our skins (tom/walburga, pg-13) - 1/2
Date: 2010-12-16 07:25 pm (UTC)the moss of our skins. tom riddle/walburga black. pg-13.
FILL: the moss of our skins (tom/walburga, pg-13) - 2/2
Date: 2010-12-16 07:34 pm (UTC)I seem to be slowly, agonizingly filling all of your prompts. I hope this fulfills your possible expectations! D: All the impasto descriptives.
Regarding The Bookmarks
Date: 2010-12-17 10:38 am (UTC)Re: Minerva McGonagall/Tom Riddle, "Learning Curve" (2/2)
Date: 2010-12-19 06:49 am (UTC)Re: Minerva McGonagall/Tom Riddle, "Learning Curve" (2/2)
Date: 2010-12-19 08:33 am (UTC)according to the hp wiki, minerva was born in october 1925 and tom, in december 1926. i don't know where they got mcgonagall's birthday though. i definitely never considered this pairing and it's definitely one of my new favorites.
again, thank you for the review :]
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 07:06 pm (UTC)Re: Harry/Hermione - Light of Christmas
Date: 2010-12-19 11:00 pm (UTC)Re: Harry/Hermione - Choices - Part 2/2
Date: 2010-12-19 11:04 pm (UTC)Re: Harry/Hermione- "Maybe It Isn't"
Date: 2010-12-19 11:06 pm (UTC)Re: Harry/Hermione - Choices - Part 2/2
Date: 2010-12-20 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-20 06:06 am (UTC)Taking place during their time at hogwarts. I know your secret, what are you going to do about it.
Re: Handmates For Certain
Date: 2010-12-22 03:13 am (UTC)Re: Anniversary
Date: 2010-12-22 06:02 am (UTC)this. so much this.
You are absolutely killing me with these perfectly gorgeous insights into them both. ♥
harry/luna; Oneiros; g; part 1
Date: 2010-12-22 08:15 am (UTC)he stumbled into faith and thought god, this is all there is
He was alone in the middle of an empty meadow and the enormous expanse that was the sky.
He could see everything and yet nothing; the horizon laid bare before him, flat and infinite. The sun was gone, hidden away behind clouds that closed over him like a blanket. He had come hoping, praying for the answer he had been searching for, but there was nothing here.
Why had he come?
I’m here, he said, but there was no answer. I’m here, he tried again, struck with the fear of forgetting, I’m sorry, but I’m alone, I - this is all there is.
I’m here.
he took a step but then felt tired
It was difficult to move here, so smothered was he by this lack of light, by his need for answers. He didn’t realize when he sat down, but he had and the grass was hard and brittle and sharp.
I’ll rest a little while, he thought, and maybe they’ll come.
He only closed his eyes for a second, but when he opened them again the meadow had already begun to melt away, the grass growing both up and down and becoming lamp posts and buildings and people.
Excuse me? He scrambled up, trying to catch someone’s attention, but no one paid him any mind. Hello?
Is it you that I’m looking for?
Step after step and shoulder after shoulder: nothing.
Why was he here?
And turning to a window beside him, he saw his reflection staring back at him, his father but not, a man much too haggard and worn to be what he remembered himself being.