HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

[anythingbutgrey]

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Harry 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:

<center><a href=http://anythingbutgrey.livejournal.com/774727.html>HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON</A></center>

<center><a href=http://anythingbutgrey.livejournal.com/774727.html><img src=IMAGE CODE HERE></A></center>

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 superkappa

by 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!

Comments

[ashspark.livejournal.com]

[ashspark.livejournal.com]

But I really wanna write this one...

[softly-me.livejournal.com]

Snape/Hermione, Cause I'm tired of whys, choking on whys // Just need a little because

[canneverbe.livejournal.com]

I shipped this years ago, great prompt for them.

I must see this. ;)

[ashspark.livejournal.com]

Draco/Ginny I've been so cold, I need your fire to keep me alive

harry/hermione, there are no good choices

[aragons.livejournal.com]

(This is terrible Karen. IDEK. I WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME.)

-

After the war ends, Harry just stops. He just stays still. The new world grows outside, rebuilding itself from the inside out and Harry waits. He has spent half his life learning to be cautious, prepared for the trap, for the snare, for the scheme that will take everything to pieces and so he cannot trust that this will last. If he does, then he has everything to lose. Again. Months pass and he still starts at a loud noise and wakes up shaking, his hands feeling sticky from the blood he can never wash off. He dreams of everyone they lost, the names blurring into one another, faces indeterminable from one to the next. The nightmares keep coming, night after night whilst he spends his days wondering whether he could have chosen differently.

Ginny says he can't dwell. She says 'it's over' like that actually means anything, like he can shake this war off his bones if he tries hard enough. Harry wants to scream at her, sick of her moralising and her childish attempts to sweep this war under the rug; sick of the way she talks about time and healing; sick of the reverence in her voice when she says his name. Everything seems harder now; he's barely nineteen but he feels like he's fought for centuries. Half his life has been about this war and without it, he cannot find his place. This is what Ginny doesn't understand.

Ron understands. Hermione understands. But that's just the problem. They should never have had to understand. They made their choices when they were too young to have any idea of what those choices would entail. Ron talks about it with a heavy heart, as if it was inevitable, as if they had never had any other option. Hermione doesn't say much, just touches her arm and drinks her tea and shuts away her books. Harry's scar throbs and he avoids her eyes.

-

When he sees Hermione, he sees a tent and a boy who has no-one and the girl who stayed. He sees the weight of everything he's done. In Hermione now, he cannot sense that ten year old with her wide open heart and her bookish defences. She is the greatest casualty of them all and for that, Harry cannot forgive himself.

He looks at her and sometimes he feels that they are no longer friends, only comrades that fought alongside one another. No games, no jokes, only remembrances they would rather forget and scars they will never compare.

-

Harry asks her once if she still has the time turner. Hermione shakes her head, her eyes sad as she leans forward to touch her forehead with his. "I wouldn't change anything Harry," she whispers, her heads cupping his jaw, fingers interlacing at the nape of his neck. He breathes, for what feels like the first time, the air shockingly cold against his throat. She reaches up to trace his scar, her touch light and gentle. "Not a thing."

He can't help but feel differently.

[aragons.livejournal.com]

YES YES KAREN TIME, POSSIBLY TOMORROW? I have got your emails but today was weirdly crazy busy. I am excite for Kanye times though.

[snowweisz.livejournal.com]

Harry/Hermione I have been bound by shackles of love and I don't mind if I die tied up

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Ron/Harry, history repeating

[snowweisz.livejournal.com]

Harry/Hermione Took you for granted when you lifted me up

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Harry/Luna, "I'll come back here for you."

Re: harry/hermione, there are no good choices

[hyacinthian.livejournal.com]

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THIS IS LOVELY.

ISOBEL THE ENDING. OH MY HEART. OH MY POOR POOR WEAK HEART. I LOVE THEM AND I LOVE ANGST AND THIS WAS PERFECT AND THE TIME TURNER YOU KNOW ME SO WELL!

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Remus/Sirius, The scars of your love, remind me of us.

[hyacinthian.livejournal.com]

YES I WILL TRY AND GET ALL OF MY WORK DONE AND THEN IT WILL FLAIL TIME ALL THE TIME UNTIL IT IS FOOD TIME

KANYE TIIIIIIIMES WHOOOOO

i'm sorry that essay was a mess and a half. there is no such thing as coherence in my essays, oops.

Re: harry/hermione, there are no good choices

[aragons.livejournal.com]

IS I? I'M GLAD. I HAVEN'T WRITTEN THESE TWO IN FOREVER.

:D :D :D

Re: held in chains; harry/hermione, pg-13

[i-rise-inside.livejournal.com]

Tears, fucking tears as I type! Here, take my incoherency, and my broken soul. You did it, and I love you for it.

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Neville/Hermione, if you don't see me now, I don't think you ever will

[aragons.livejournal.com]

YESSSSSSSSSS. I HAVE GOT TO READ 'THE SEA' BY JOHN BANVILLE BUT THAT IS LEGIT IT. And possibly rewatch HP. BECAUSE THAT IS WHO I AM.

psh, I'm sure it's fabulous.

[lady-blackwell.livejournal.com]

Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley, no matter what you become, you will always be mine

[ladysophiekitty.livejournal.com]

"W​hat's wrong with you, Harry? You look like McGonagall has informed you that you have to take extra classes with Snape for the rest of the year," Hermione asked.

"C​hampions have to open up the ball," Harry said glumly.

"The ball is in your honor," Hermione said as if it was the most ​obvious thing in the world.

"I​ can't dance," Harry reluctantly replied. Saying it out loud made it seem worse, somehow, more real.

"We'll have to find a solution, is all."

"I​ doubt we'd find anything in the library, unless you have a charm to put on my shoes," Harry said with a good deal more irritation than usual. Truth was, he missed his friend, and she'd spent more time in the library this year than ever before.

"N​o, we'll have to practice. That way neither of us will embarrass the other when we dance."

"Wait, are you asking me out? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"Oh honestly Harry. By the time you would have gotten around to asking, everyone would have been taken."

Harry hated it when Hermione was right.

Re: harry/hermione, there are no good choices

[i-rise-inside.livejournal.com]

Heartbreaking and gorgeous!

When he sees Hermione, he sees a tent and a boy who has no-one and the girl who stayed.

*wipes tear*

[courtisanes.livejournal.com]

Bellatrix/Sirius, I'd like to grab you by the hair and drag you to the devil

harry/hermione - you can't carry it with you if you want to survive

[hyacinthian.livejournal.com]

He steps over the threshold and she offers him a slice of sponge and tea.

It's a familiar routine, something they've managed to concoct in light of marriage and children and adulthood and the notion, the ridiculous absurd notion that somehow, the war is behind them. The war will never be behind them. It lingers everywhere around them - future, past, present - and there is no pretending. Except for these times. Except for when they sit together and they avoid each other's gazes and they pretend that everything is perfect, war is over, skip to playing Lennon songs and preaching of peace.

There is no peace.

She's older now, bits of grey in her hair, but she's still so very much his Hermione, the one he remembers.

They sit at the table and talk of work first, always work first, because this is how things have always worked. He tells her the plan, she tells him it's wrong and how to fix it, and they keep on. The decorative border on the plates is wearing a little bit from age and it always surprises him that she always serves him cake on the china he bought them as a wedding gift. He's not quite sure why. Instead, he runs his thumb along the spot where it's beginning to fade, where the blue and white flowering ivy border starts disappearing into just plain ceramic.

They don't speak much.

There is always talk of the children because their adulthood is wrapped up in that, in children, even as they're still children themselves, trapped in the adolescence they never really had, the war that never really left them. He wonders if these little lunches aren't that different from the war meetings they used to have, her voice escaping from her in a rough cracked whisper like perhaps Death Eaters are waiting around the corner, listening in on their conversation.

"I haven't seen you," he says, quietly, "in so long, it feels like."

"Yes, well, the children have all kept us very busy, Harry. It isn't like we can just slip into the Gryffindor common room as we used to, is it?"

Her smile's a little too fragile and he's unsure of what to say; the only noise is the clink of their teacups.

He reaches for the milk when the thought just slips out. "The war wasn't your fight, you shouldn't have been there."

And she just looks at him, a flash of the angry Hermione he's familiar with, "Don't be stupid, Harry. Of course I should have been there. I was there for you."

He sets his hands flat against the edge of the table. Sometimes it feels like he grew up speaking the language of war and everything now, delicate dots of life in peacetime like impressionist paintings, everything is too clean for him to understand. It isn't his language, he doesn't understand, and the translations only go so far; he pushes it down but there are days, there are mornings when he wakes up in a cold sweat, hand reaching for his wand, only to realize that there's no need. The war is done, the war is done, the war is done, but the war was always in his blood and he couldn't run away from it and he still can't, and she - she was the only one who never thought to run away either.

"Sometimes I wish it could have gone differently," he says, voice cracking at the edges. Everything feels too much a lie, too quiet, too silent.

She turns her gaze towards the teapot on the table, the flowery decoration along the top of the lid. "We can't change anything."

He doesn't say anything, just tentatively pushes his hand out towards the center of the table, his fingertips brushing the tips of her fingers.

"I was always going to fight with you, Harry. But - " she takes a shaky breath, "the war's been over for a long time now."

"Not for me."

She twines her fingers around his then; the gesture feels achingly familiar.

They sit in her kitchen in silence, and pretend the feelings have faded.

The war is over.

Sirius/Lily; breath of your last cigarette

[littledivinity.livejournal.com]

There are a lot of warnings and cautions I could post before you read this, but I'm going to try to avoid self-deprecation. By pointing out that I would like to be self-deprecating. HERE IS SOMETHING I WROTE TODAY.

--

Lily finds him where he usually is when he’s without his pack; she doesn’t know if Remus and James don’t know he comes here, or if -- more likely -- they know he does it when he needs to be alone. But she is neither brother nor lover nor blood, and she doesn’t leave him alone just because he’s tucked tail.

He glances up at her, the moonlight always seeming brighter than normal against the dark, unwashed stones of an abandoned turret. The end of his cigarette flares with the deep drag he pulls from it, holding the smoke in his lungs so his chest puffs out, his eyes narrowing. She folds her arms across her chest, her spine straightening just so. The stream of smoking drifts from his lips, curling and carrying away with the wind.

“Blossom,” he acknowledges her, a nod of his head, his black hair shaggy enough to fall across his forehead.

“Mongrel,” she says, but there’s affection in each syllable, and the tension in her muscles begins to query if it can lessen.

“James’ll be looking for you,” he says, idly tapping the cigarette against a window sill, ashes fluttering to the ground far below.

She shrugs her shoulders, unfolding and leaning on the other side of the window, cold stone a harsh bite against her hip. “You, me, Remus, Peter, he’s always tracking someone down. The moon is full, he’s probably got his mind on something else.”

She waits for the twitch and flutter, the sharpening of his jaw when she mentions it. She wonders if anyone else realizes exactly why he surrounds himself with cold air and stamped out cigarette butts on these nights. It must be easier, being surrounded by boys, who desire simplicity and ignorance.

Lily holds out her fingers, the silent request a familiar one, and he begrudgingly passes the cigarette to her. She pulls the acrid, burnt paper taste into her mouth, the absent heat of it still unfamiliar.

“He’ll smell it on you,” Sirius says, still watching her with a hint of uncertainty.

She releases the stream of grey to the night. “Do you think I don’t smell it on him?” She asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.

It seems to quell him, so she takes another drag and hands it back, curling her dry tongue back on itself.

“You can have your own,” he offers, reaching for the pack. She shrugs. That’s not really the point, and she thinks he realizes it on some level.

He finishes it while she watches the moonlight on the lake, and it’s too cold to be out here, but she’s too stubborn to leave. And there’s something, something to being out here with him, the two of them. The five of them, none of them, are ever alone, it always seems a group. Even with James, they’re usually tucked into each other while Sirius, Remus, or Peter (or all three) sits across from them, and James shares himself with four people not one. She doesn’t mind, doesn’t pretend she didn’t realize what the reality was before she embarked on it. But there’s an intimacy she craves, a quiet desire for these moments shared alone and silent with another person.

He drops the butt to the ground, pressing it beneath the toe of his boot, the movement slipping him closer to her, until she can smell him: the lingering petrol from his motorcycle, butterbeer and tobacco on his breath, the hint of worn leather. She knows that if she tucks her nose into his neck, near the beginnings of his hairline, he’ll smell a little like his animagus form, a hint of puppy in the curl of his perspiration.

Sirius lifts a hand and curls it around her neck, hot and callused on the thin skin of her throat. When he leans in and kisses her, it’s not unexpected, it’s not shocking, it’s just Sirius. Warm, a little scratchy, dry and smoky. She kisses him back, because there’s not a part of her in denial about what he and James are, what he and Remus are, what they all somehow are, in their woven web of love and trust. Because kissing him is an extension of James, and even if it’s wrong, it’s intrinsically right.

[hyacinthian.livejournal.com]

*for this, not 'of this'