anythingbutgrey | HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

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HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

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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:

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:

eleusis_walks

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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

So, so right. A really lovely little quiet moment. I am slightly in love with the ship. There is something about the syntax of this drabble that really sits with you. Bits like this:

"Percy offers to help – he is atoning, always forever atoning now, let's not forget – and his wrists are thin and pale, but not pale like Ron's and Hermione thinks she can articulate a difference here, how, of all the Weasleys, he is the one she sees less as an extension of Ron."

And the feeling of the piece is so... tired and still and small. Really, really lovely.

"You know the thing they never tell you about being dead?"

He raises his eyebrows.

"Do you mean being dead or being here like this?"

"Those are different things, you know."

Her eyes roll up and around. The milky whites glow yellow in the candlelight.

"Everything is semantics with you, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"I didn't think so."

"No."

"No?"

"Somethings are about semantics. The important ones."

"So, everything that's important must be trivialized?"

"Just go on with what you were going to say, will you?" he barks, impatient and the blood is there then, blood rough (what a strange name for a ghost, their veins run empty) and he jerks his head forward.

"They never tell you that you'll miss touch more than you'll ever miss people."

He laughs.

"That's because everyone's dead, darling."

"Everyone but us."

That's another thing they don't tell you.

Nothing that a ghost says echoes. Not even in empty halls.

-

In another age, her fondness was for quiet men.

That age is gone.

-

"I think I'll disappear someday," she says, dreamily. This is during the Christmas feast, enchanted globes floating over the heads of youth.

She says this every year. She has not disappeared.

The Baron watches a teacher drink his wine and his throat shudders at the sight of spilled drink.

(At one time, he would say "Disappear soon, I hope?" and she would huff.

Now, he says nothing.

Death does not preclude the process of aging.)

-

The war blinds a low, dark wind.

It makes her shiver without fear but he watches, he watches her and he realized on the eve of this battle (they call it the final battle, they always call it the final battle) and she says--

"I hear them saying the dead will rise from their graves."

"That worries you."

She laughs.

"Too many ex lovers, baron. Too many people I'd never want to see again."

Her face looks like stone when she throws it back.

He realizes he has been watching her for too many years.

This is where my self-deprecating speech should go :3 And I'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted! I've never even really written for the fandom before, aha.

When you were young, (you always refused to say "once upon a time", you really did, because the most ancient and noble house of Black certainly do not stoop so low as fairytales), you found Bella under a peach tree; sprawled on the hard mud, legs spread in the most undignified manner.

You were always trained to be a lady. Bella wasn't.

You don't speak: you don't need to, because Bella has this way - because as you lift your skirts and approach, Bella cackles. This is the thing about Bella, you find: her shoulders never tense. Her brow never furrows. In essence, she is the complete opposite of you. Sometimes - just, sometimes, it's hard to believe you're the same family.

"'Cissa", she coos. "Come look what I did."

You are all airs and graces as you sit. Bella pushes you. You let her.

"Bella -" you begin, but your voice so smooth like honey breaks when a grubby hand is held out to you.

"Read my palm, 'Cissa. Tell me my future."

And there it is: folded in the creases of her hand, there's a beautiful white butterfly, mutilated and dissected until it resembled putty in her palm.

**

You're older now, in the Slytherin dorms. You are alone; Bella is watching. You gulp. Bella notices.

Do you remember, Bella's yo-yo voice begins. Up and down, up and down. The predictable unpredictable.

"Do you remember - that summer, when I showed you my future?"

You don't say a word. You've never had to, after all. Bella has that way about her.

"I hated that butterfly. It was so fragile. So beautiful. It was everything I am not," she pauses, drawing closer, that wicked glint in her eyes that makes your breath hitch. "Do you know, I rather think that butterfly shares some qualities, don't you think?"

You don't know what to say. You're not sure if you're exhilarated or terrified.

"I could rip your wings off too, if you like," and Bella licks her lips. You stare. Bella laughs, and she kisses you, hard and with feeling.

Flap your wings to years later, 'Cissa: sitting in silence with your husband and son. There is no wicked gleam in their dull, grey eyes; you fantasise about Bella's laugh, not Lucius' cold stare.

You're old and tense: crow's feet line your eyes, your mouth is painted so sad and alone.

Bella is dead.

You leave the table and nobody says a word. You lift your skirts and sit by the peach tree and cry. It was a long time ago, but she still dissected you, mutilated you; turned you into putty in her palm.

She took your wings a long time ago. You never were able to fly.

Edited 2010-11-24 23:33 (UTC)

not sure this is what you had in mind but oh well.

***

They are older and they are failures and they are drinking. Seriously drinking now. Seventh-year students enter the pub and look at them with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. Fuck them Ginny says when Neville looks uncomfortable enough with those glances that he suggests leaving. It's shocking for him, hearing Ginny Potter (but remember, not anymore, she says and orders another round, Ginny Weasley does, plain Weasley again) swear like this – they know each other since they were kids, the swearing will never sound right.

But she is right: fuck those Hogwarts students and their youth and their hormones and their unjaded fucking beauty. Yes, Ginny and Neville are older and failures and divorced but at least misery loves company.

`What's wrong with me?´ She wonders out loud, the ws coming out with real difficulty now that she is already with her third Firewhisky.

(Nothing is what's wrong with her, if you ask Neville, from where he is standing now, and that's probably and mostly the drinks speaking here but he even thinks the way her ws come out, all long and dizzy, are cute now, and she is wearing her hair longer than he's seen her and her legs are so long)

`What do you mean, what's wrong with you?´

`I was married to the most famous wizard in history. Am I so impossible that even that can't work?´

Neville shakes his head dramatically.

`At least you have that pressure as excuse. I had the perfect, boring, perfectly boring life I wanted. What is wrong with me?´

Ginny reaches and runs her hand through his head – half clumsily seductive half sister-like, ruffling.

`There's nothing wrong with you either. How could be? You are... Neville.´

Well, there's that, he thinks, not sure if it's a compliment or just pathetic. Then Ginny holds up her glass and Neville thinks she is going to say something along the lines of “well, they don't know what they are missing” or some such hollow words of encouragement. But she doesn't. She seems to change her mind and she puts the glass down again and she sort of falls forward in her seat and holds on to Neville, for balance it seems at first, and then they are kissing.

They are kissing. Seriously kissing now.

There's no way he can not be thinking about how mere days ago Ginny's name was Potter.

But then he can feel her tongue touch the roof of his mouth and her hand coming to rest casually on his thigh and he is not thinking about what her name was at all; if somebody saw them... Neville is suddenly glad The Daily Prophet closed ages ago because this would surely make the cover.

oh that was very good and brilliant use of my prompt! :D

THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO LIKE MOLLY?

this disturbs me so much i can't even.

MOST OF FANDOM LIKES MOLLY.

this fandom is so wrong.

thank you so much. i am slightly in love with the ship myself. ♥

Sirius looked over to Andromeda. It was always like this, after. he would watch her and notice the similarities between them. the way their hair always got messy, the way they would both act like this wasn't anything, that it wasn't so fundamentally wrong. They were Blacks, they were dignified.

"What do you think they'd say?" Sirius had never had the nerve to ask before. But he wondered.

Andromeda smiled, a tiny half smile that would only light up her eyes.

"Does it matter? We're not like them, Sirius. You and me, we know better... we are better."

Sirius nodded and stared at the ceiling again. She was right. They would continue, and one day, they would leave.

Tragic and beautiful.

Dammit, my friends should not link me to things like this. Um, I have ne'er done a comment fic meme before, so is it bad etiquette to do a prompt that's already been filled even if it's the only one that speaks to me?

you can most definitely do a prompt that has already been filled. the prompter will inevitably love it. two fics for the price of one!

You have broken my brain...

♥

Down on the beach he'd cut his hand on a fragment of shell. Now, up on the dunes, he holds it up to the breeze and the salt in the air makes the wound sting. He could go in and get it seen to. But he could so he doesn't. Its his left hand. His drawing hand. But he hasn't drawn in a while. The pencil calluses have faded away to be replaced with the wear of the road. That'll heal to and then what will he be?

Luna's pale hand joins his dark one.

"Sea air always makes my skin feel sticky."

"Does it?" He bumps his hand against hers. It swings away seeming to wipe away a cloud as it passes across the sky.

"Yes." Her hand returns to cover his. "Feel."

He swivels his wrist and links their fingers. Her palm is rough and...

"Yes, a bit sticky too."

He thinks, hopes, that she's looking at him. Hair wind-whipped with grains of sand caught up in the straggles that dance across her blushing cheeks. But maybe that's just a picture he's drawing of her. Maybe...

"I could sketch you." He blurts out to the sky.

"I could sketch you." He hand pulls away and his drops to his chest. She traces a finger through the air and he can almost see her cloud Dean staring back at them.

"I can draw you." He turns and she isn't watching him. He brushes her cheek. "I can. I remember how."

She smiles at the sky. Then, a bit later, she hums as he kisses salt off her lips.

OH FUCK THIS IS PERFECT.

this is pure brilliance. i think i have a new otp.

Edited 2010-11-25 00:06 (UTC)

Awesome. *goes to abuse her moderator privileges and point a comm thisaway*

this is absolutely stunning. it aches and i'm in love with it. the rhythm of the last paragraphs is gorgeous.

faaabulous :D

REGINA SPEKTOR I LOVE YOU.

oh

very beautiful.

Gorgeous!

inception fan? :D

It takes a long time for Ginny to remember.

Her first year at Hogwarts is like a tapestry with chunks missing. There were always those times where she couldn’t quite place where she’d been the previous night, stains on her clothes that she couldn’t explain, moments where she felt nauseous or chilled for no reason.

Slowly the pieces come back to her, fitting together like a puzzle. The dampness on her shoes was from the flooding in the hallway and the red stain on her sleeve was from the strangled rooster. She’d thrown up for hours after the rooster incident. The sick feeling hadn’t faded for days.

Each new memory frightens her. It’s like reliving that awful year all over again. The uncertainty, the horror and the fear leave an awful taste in the back of her throat. The memories come back sporadically over the course of the next three years. Sometimes they are nothing more than a smell or a whisper. Other times an entire hour will fill her mind. She can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved each time she remembers a little bit more.

Tom is the last memory to return.

The rest of the memories had been ones that Tom and the diary had bamboozled her into forgetting. Tom is the only part that Ginny had forced herself to forget. In the weeks after her first year ended, she’d lie awake for hours in her room in the Burrow, scared to sleep and haunted by his voice. Ginny decided in that room to lock the memory of Tom and everything he had done to her in a compartment in the back of her mind.

Tom doesn’t break free until the spring of her fifth year. She’s walking through the trophy room with her friends from the Quidditch team. They are joking around, pretending to pick out a spot for the framed photograph of their winning Quidditch Cup Team.

“There’s a bit of free space over here, look--” Katie says, pointing towards a corner. Demelza strikes a pose and Ginny giggles.

And then she sees it, the Special Services Award given to Tom Marvolo Riddle all those years ago. It glints at her almost mockingly. Suddenly, she hears Tom’s chilling voice in her head calling her a silly little girl.

She asks Katie and Delmeza to excuse her. She goes back to the Gryffindor tower, and shuts herself into her bed, closing the curtains firmly. Tom is all around her, everywhere, and she can’t help but remember.

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Page 32 of 116

HARRY POTTER NON-CANON SHIPS COMMENT FICATHON

Re: hermione/percy - the clever one

FROM DECADES TRAPPED | the grey lady/the bloody baron

no subject

ginny/neville - the kids are all right

no subject

Re: IS THIS SHIP CANON OR NOT?

Re: IS THIS SHIP CANON OR NOT?

Re: hermione/percy - the clever one

Sirius Black/Andromeda Black -Dignity

Re: harry/hermione -- this is my winter song to you (cont.)

Re: QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/GENERAL THOUGHTS

Re: QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/GENERAL THOUGHTS

no subject

Re: harry/hermione; mending broken pieces - pg-13

Pictures in the Clouds

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

Re: FROM DECADES TRAPPED | the grey lady/the bloody baron

Re: QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/GENERAL THOUGHTS

Re: harry/hermione; mending broken pieces - pg-13

Re: QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/GENERAL THOUGHTS

no subject

Re: Pictures in the Clouds

Re: harry/hermione; mending broken pieces - pg-13

no subject

tom/ginny - nothing in this room but empty space (1/2)